KENNEDY 


•    [OPKINSON  •  SMITH 


FRED  M.  DE  WITT 


lOOS  TELEGRAPH    AVE. 


BOOKS   BY  F.  HOPKINSON  SMITH 
PUBLISHED  BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

KENNEDY  SQUARE,    Illustrated $1.50 

PETER.     Illustrated I-SO 

THE  TIDES  OF  BARNEGAT.    Illustrated     .    .    .  1.50 

THE  FORTUNES  OF  OLIVER  HORN.      Illustrated  1.50 
THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  OLD-FASHIONED 

GENTLEMAN.     Illustrated   .    .     ....  1.50 

COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS.     Illustrated    .  1.50 

FORTY  MINUTES  LATE.     Illustrated 1.50 

THE  WOOD  FIRE  IN  No.  3.     Illustrated    .    .    .  1.50 

THE  VEILED  LADY.    Illustrated 1.50 

AT  CLOSE  RANGE.     Illustrated 1.50 

THE  UNDER  DOG.    Illustrated 1.50 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 


You'll  take  it,  won't  you — just  once? 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 


BY 

F.    HOPKINSON   SMITH 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 

A.    I.    KELLER 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1911 


COPYRIGHT,  1911,  BT 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  August,  1911 

Reprinted  August.  September,  1911 

November,  1911 


Author's  Preface: 

"  Kennedy  Square,  in  the  late  fifties,  was  a  place  of 
birds  and  trees  and  flowers;  of  rude  stone  benches, 
sagging  arbors  smothered  in  vines,  and  cool  dirt  paths 
bordered  by  sweet-smelling  box.  Giant  magnolias 
filled  the  air  with  their  fragrance,  and  climbing  roses 
played  hide-and-seek  among  the  railings  of  the  rot 
ting  fence.  Along  the  shaded  walks  laughing  boys 
and  girls  romped  all  day,  with  hoop  and  ball,  attended 
by  old  black  mammies  in  white  aprons  and  gayly  col 
ored  bandannas;  while  in  the  more  secluded  corners, 
sheltered  by  protecting  shrubs,  happy  lovers  sat  and 
talked,  tired  wayfarers  rested  with  hats  off,  and  staid 
old  gentlemen  read  by  the  hour,  their  noses  in  their 
books. 

"Outside  of  all  this  color,  perfume,  and  old-time 
charm;  outside  the  grass-line  and  the  rickety  wooden 
fence  that  framed  them  in,  ran  an  uneven  pavement 
splashed  with  cool  shadows  and  stained  with  green 
mould.  Here,  in  summer,  the  watermelon  man 
stopped  his  cart;  and  there,  in  winter,  upon  its  bro 
ken  bricks,  old  Moses  unhooked  his  bucket  of  oysters 
and  ceased  for  a  moment  his  droning  call. 

"  On  the  shady  side  of  the  square,  and  half  hidden 
in  ivy,  was  a  Noah's  Ark  church,  topped  by  a  quaint 
belfry  holding  a  bell  that  had  not  rung  for  years,  and 

v 

^72134 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 


CHAPTER   I 

On  the  precise  day  on  which  this  story  opens — 
some  sixty  or  more  years  ago,  to  be  exact — a  bullet- 
headed,  merry-eyed,  mahogany-colored  young  darky 
stood  on  the  top  step  of  an  old-fashioned,  high-stoop 
house,  craning  his  head  up  and  down  and  across  Ken 
nedy  Square  in  the  effort  to  get  the  first  glimpse  of  his 
master,  St.  George  Wilmot  Temple,  attorney  and  coun- 
sellor-at-law,  who  was  expected  home  from  a  ducking 
trip  down  the  bay. 

Whether  it  was  the  need  of  this  very  diet,  or  whether 
St.  George  had  felt  a  sudden  longing  for  the  out-of- 
doors,  is  a  matter  of  doubt,  but  certain  it  is  that  some 
weeks  before  the  very  best  shot  in  the  county  had 
betaken  himself  to  the  Eastern  Shore  of  Maryland, 
accompanied  by  his  guns,  his  four  dogs,  and  two  or 
three  choice  men  of  fashion — young  bloods  of  the  time 
— men  with  whom  we  shall  become  better  acquainted 
as  these  chronicles  go  on — there  to  search  for  the 
toothsome  and  elusive  canvas-back  for  which  his  State 
was  famous. 

That  the  darky  was  without  a  hat  and  in  his  shirt 
sleeves,  and  it  winter — the  middle  of  January,  really — 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

the  only  warm  thing  about  him  being  the  green  baize 
apron  tied  about  his  waist,  his  customary  livery  when 
attending  to  his  morning  duties — did  not  trouble  him 
in  the  least.  Marse  George  might  come  any  minute, 
and  he  wanted  to  be  the  first  to  welcome  him. 

For  the  past  few  weeks  Todd  had  had  the  house  to 
himself.  Coal-black  Aunt  Jemima,  with  her  knotted 
pig-tails,  capacious  bosom,  and  unconfined  waist,  forty 
years  his  senior  and  ten  shades  darker  in  color,  it  is 
true,  looked  after  the  pots  and  pans,  to  say  nothing  of 
a  particular  spit  on  which  her  master's  joints  and 
game  were  roasted;  but  the  upper  part  of  the  house, 
which  covered  the  drawing-room,  dining-room,  bed 
room,  and  dressing-room  in  the  rear,  as  well  as  the 
outside  of  the  dwelling,  including  even  the  green- 
painted  front  door  and  the  slant  of  white  marble  steps 
that  dropped  to  the  brick  sidewalk,  were  the  especial 
property  of  the  chocolate-colored  darky. 

To  these  duties  was  added  the  exclusive  care  of  the 
master  himself — a  care  which  gave  the  boy  the  keenest 
delight,  and  which  embraced  every  service  from  the 
drawing  off  of  St.  George  Wilmot  Temple's  boots  to 
the  shortening  of  that  gentleman's  slightly  gray  hair; 
the  supervision  of  his  linen,  clothes,  and  table,  with 
such  side  issues  as  the  custody  of  his  well-stocked 
cellar,  to  say  nothing  of  the  compounding  of  various 
combinations,  sweet,  sour,  and  strong,  the  betrayal  of 
whose  secrets  would  have  cost  the  darky  his  place. 

"Place"  is  the  word,  for  Todd  was  not  St.  George's 
slave,  but  the  property  of  a  well-born,  if  slightly  impov- 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

erished,  gentleman  who  lived  on  the  Eastern  Shore, 
and  whose  chief  source  of  income  was  the  hiring  out 
to  his  friends  and  acquaintances  of  just  such  likely 
young  darkies  as  Todd — a  custom  common  to  the  im 
pecunious  of  those  days. 

As  Mr.  Temple,  however,  did  not  come  under  either 
one  of  the  above-mentioned  classes — the  "  slightly  im 
poverished  gentleman"  never  having  laid  eyes  on  him 
in  his  life — the  negotiations  had  to  be  conducted  with 
a  certain  formality.  Todd  had  therefore,  on  his  ar 
rival,  unpinned  from  the  inside  of  his  jacket  a  por 
tentous  document  signed  with  his  owner's  name  and 
sealed  with  a  red  wafer,  which  after  such  felicitous 
phrases  as — "  I  have  the  distinguished  honor,"  etc. — 
gave  the  boy's  age  (21),  weight  (140  pounds),  and 
height  (5  feet  10  inches) — all  valuable  data  for  identi 
fication  in  case  the  chattel  conceived  a  notion  of  mov 
ing  further  north  (an  unnecessary  precaution  in  Todd's 
case).  To  this  was  added  the  further  information 
that  the  boy  had  been  raised  under  his  master's  heels, 
that  he  therefore  knew  his  pedigree,  and  that  his  sole 
and  only  reason  for  sparing  him  from  his  own  imme 
diate  service  was  his  own  poverty  and  the  fact  that 
while  under  St.  George's  care  the  boy  could  learn  how 
"to  wait  on  quality." 

As  to  the  house  itself — the  "Temple  Mansion,"  as 
it  was  called — that  was  as  much  a  part  of  Kennedy 
Square  as  the  giant  magnolias  gracing  the  park,  or 
the  Noah's  Ark  church,  with  its  quaint  belfry  and 
cracked  bell,  which  faced  its  shady  walks.  Nobody, 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

of  course,  remembered  how  long  it  had  been  built — 
that  is,  nobody  then  alive — I  mean  the  very  date. 
Such  authorities  as  Major  Clayton  were  positive  that 
the  bricks  had  been  brought  from  Holland;  while 
Richard  Horn,  the  rising  young  scientist,  was  sure 
that  all  the  iron  and  brass  work  outside  were  the  prod 
uct  of  Sheffield;  but  in  what  year  they  had  all  been 
put  together  had  always  been  a  disputed  question. 

That,  however,  which  was  certain  and  beyond 
doubt,  was  that  St.  George's  father,  old  General  Dor- 
sey  Temple,  had  purchased  the  property  near  the  close 
of  the  preceding  century;  that  he  had,  with  his  char 
acteristic  vehemence,  pushed  up  the  roof,  thrust  in 
two  dormer  windows,  and  smashed  out  the  rear  wall, 
thus  enlarging  the  dining-room  and  giving  increased 
space  for  a  glass-covered  porch  ending  in  a  broad 
flight  of  wooden  steps  descending  to  a  rose-garden 
surrounded  by  a  high  brick  wall;  that  thus  encour 
aged  he  had  widened  the  fireplaces,  wainscoted  the 
hall,  built  a  new  mahogany  spider-web  staircase  lead 
ing  to  his  library  on  the  second  floor,  and  had  other 
wise  disported  himself  after  the  manner  of  a  man  who, 
having  suddenly  fallen  heir  to  a  big  pot  of  money,  had 
ever  after  continued  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  the  more 
holes  he  punched  in  its  bottom  the  less  water  would 
spill  over  its  top.  The  alterations  complete,  balls, 
routs,  and  dinners  followed  to  such  distinguished  peo 
ple  as  Count  Rochambeau,  the  Marquis  de  Castellux, 
Marquis  de  Lafayette,  and  other  high  dignitaries, 
coming-of-age  parties  for  the  young  bloods — quite 

6 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

English  in  his  tastes  was  the  old  gentleman — not  to 
mention  many  other  extravagances  which  were  still 
discussed  by  the  gossips  of  the  day. 

With  the  general's  death — it  had  occurred  some 
twenty  years  before — the  expected  had  happened. 
Not  only  was  the  pot  nearly  empty,  but  the  various 
drains  which  it  had  sustained  had  so  undermined  the 
family  rent-roll  that  an  equally  disastrous  effect  had 
been  produced  on  the  mansion  itself  (one  of  the  few 
pieces  of  property,  by  the  way,  that  the  father  had 
left  to  his  only  son  and  heir  unencumbered,  with  the 
exception  of  a  suit  in  chancery  from  which  nobody 
ever  expected  a  penny),  the  only  dry  spots  in  St. 
George's  finances  being  the  few  ground  rents  remain 
ing  from  his  grandmother's  legacy  and  the  little  he 
could  pick  up  at  the  law. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  therefore,  that  certain 
changes  and  deteriorations  had  taken  place  inside  and 
out  of  the  historic  building — changes  which  never  in 
the  slightest  degree  affected  the  even-tempered  St. 
George,  who  had  retained  his  own  private  apartments 
regardless  of  the  rest  of  the  house — but  changes  which, 
in  all  justice  to  the  irascible  old  spendthrift,  would 
have  lifted  that  gentleman  out  of  his  grave  could  he 
have  realized  their  effect  and  extent.  What  a  shock, 
for  instance,  would  the  most  punctilious  man  of  his 
time  have  received  when  he  found  his  front  base 
ment  rented  for  a  law  office,  to  say  nothing  of  a  dis 
reputable  tin  sign  nailed  to  a  shutter — where  in  the 
olden  time  he  and  his  cronies  had  toasted  their  shins 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

before  blazing  logs,  the  toddies  kept  hot  on  the  hearth! 
And  what  a  row  would  he  have  raised  had  he  known 
that  the  rose-garden  was  entirely  neglected  and  given 
over  to  the  dogs  and  their  kennels;  the  library  in  the 
second  story  stripped  of  its  books  and  turned  into  a 
guest-chamber,  and  the  books  themselves  consigned  to 
the  basement;  the  oak-panelled  dining-room  trans 
formed  into  a  bedchamber  for  St.  George,  and  the 
white-and-gold  drawing-room  fronting  the  street  re 
duced  to  a  mere  living-room  where  his  son  and  heir 
made  merry  with  his  friends!  And  then  the  shrink 
ages  all  about!  When  a  room  could  be  dispensed 
with,  it  was  locked  up.  When  a  shingle  broke  loose, 
it  stayed  loose;  and  so  did  the  bricks  capping  the 
chimneys,  and  the  leaky  rain-spouts  that  spattered  the 
dingy  bricks,  as  well  as  the  cracks  and  crannies  that 
marred  the  ceilings  and  walls. 

And  yet  so  great  was  Todd's  care  over  the  outside 
fittings  of  the  house — details  which  were  necessarily 
in  evidence,  and  which  determined  at  a  glance  the 
quality  of  the  folks  inside — that  these  several  crum- 
blings,  shake-downs,  and  shrinkages  were  seldom 
noticed  by  the  passer-by.  The  old  adage  that  a  well- 
brushed  hat,  a  clean  collar,  polished  shoes,  and  im 
maculate  gloves — all  terminal  details — make  the  well- 
dressed  man,  no  matter  how  shabby  or  how  ill-fitting 
his  intermediate  apparel,  applied,  according  to  Todd's 
standards,  to  houses  as  well  as  Brummels.  He  it  was 
who  soused  the  windows  of  purple  glass,  polished  the 
brass  knobs,  rubbed  bright  the  brass  knocker  and 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

brass  balls  at  the  top  and  bottom  of  the  delightful  iron 
railings,  to  say  nothing  of  the  white  marble  steps, 
which  he  attacked  with  a  slab  of  sandstone  and  cake 
of  fuller's-earth,  bringing  them  to  so  high  a  state  of 
perfection  that  one  wanted  to  apologize  for  stepping 
on  them.  Thus  it  was  that  the  weather-beaten  rain- 
spouts,  stained  bricks,  sagging  roof,  and  blistered  win 
dow-sashes  were  no  longer  in  evidence.  Indeed,  their 
very  shabbiness  so  enhanced  the  brilliancy  of  Todd's 
handiwork  that  the  most  casual  passers-by  were  con 
vinced  at  a  glance  that  gentlefolk  lived  within. 

On  this  particular  morning,  then,  Todd  had  spent 
most  of  the  time  since  daylight — it  was  now  eight 
o'clock — in  the  effort  to  descry  his  master  making  his 
way  along  the  street,  either  afoot  or  by  some  convey 
ance,  his  eyes  dancing,  his  ears  alert  as  a  rabbit's,  his 
restless  feet  marking  the  limit  of  his  eagerness.  In 
his  impatience  he  had  practised  every  step  known  to 
darkydom  in  single  and  double  shuffle;  had  patted 
juba  on  one  and  both  knees,  keeping  time  with  his 
heels  to  the  rhythm;  had  slid  down  and  climbed  up 
the  railings  a  dozen  times,  his  eyes  on  the  turn  in  the 
street,  and  had  otherwise  conducted  himself  as  would 
any  other  boy,  black  or  white,  who  was  at  his  wits'  end 
to  know  what  to  do  with  the  next  second  of  his  time. 

Aunt  Jemima  had  listened  to  the  racket  until  she 
had  lost  all  patience,  and  at  last  threw  up  the  basement 
window: 

"Go  in  an*  shet  dat  do* — 'fo*  I  come  up  dar  an* 
9 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

smack  ye — 'nough  ter  make  a  body  deef  ter  hear  ye," 
she  called,  her  black  shining  face  dividing  the  cur 
tains.  "How  you  know  he's  a-comin'?" 

Todd  leaned  over  the  railing  and  peered  down: 
"Mister  Harry  Rutter  done  tol'  me — said  dey  all  's 
a-comin' — de  jedge  an*  Doctor  Teackle  an*  Marse 
George  an'  de  hull  kit  an'  bilin'.  Dey's  been  gone 
mos'  two  weeks  now, — dey's  a-comin'  I  tell  ye — be 
yere  any  minute." 

"  I  b'liebe  dat  when  I  sees  it.  Fool  nigger  like  you 
b'liebe  anything.  You  better  go  inside  'fo'  you  catch 
yo'  dea'f.  I  gin  ye  fair  warnin'  right  now  dat  I  ain't 
gwineter  nuss  ye, — d'ye  yere  ? — standin'  out  dar  like  a 
tarr-pin  wid  yo'  haid  out.  Go  in  I  tell  ye!"  and  she 
shut  the  window  with  a  bang  and  made  her  way  to 
the  kitchen. 

Todd  kept  up  his  double  shuffle  with  everything 
going — hands,  feet,  and  knees — thrashed  his  arms 
about  his  chest  and  back  to  keep  up  the  circulation 
and  with  a  final  grimace  in  the  direction  of  the  old 
cook  maintained  his  watch. 

"I  spec's  it's  de  fog  dat's  kep'  'em,"  he  muttered 
anxiously,  his  feet  still  in  action.  "Dat  bay  boat's 
mos'  allus  late, — can't  tell  when  she'll  git  in.  Only 
las' week — Golly! — dar  he  is — dat's  him!" 

A  mud-bespattered  gig  was  swinging  around  the 
corner  into  the  Square,  and  with  a  swerve  in  its  course 
was  heading  to  where  Todd  stood. 

The  boy  sprang  down  the  steps: 

"Yere  he  is,  Aunt  Jemima!"  he  shouted,  as  if  the 
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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

old  cook  could  have  heard  him  through  three  brick 
walls. 

The  gig  came  to  a  stand-still  and  began  to  unload: 
first  the  dogs,  who  had  been  stowed  under  their  mas 
ter's  feet  since  they  left  the  steamboat  wharf,  and  who 
with  a  clear  bound  to  the  sidewalk  began  scouring  in 
mad  circles,  one  after  another,  up  and  down  Todd's 
immaculate  steps,  the  four  in  full  cry  until  the  entire 
neighborhood  was  aroused,  the  late  sleepers  turning 
over  with  the  remark — "Temple's  at  home,"  and  the 
early  risers  sticking  their  heads  out  of  the  windows  to 
count  the  ducks  as  they  were  passed  out.  Next  the 
master:  One  shapely  leg  encased  in  an  English-made 
ducking  boot,  then  its  mate,  until  the  whole  of  his 
handsome,  well-knit,  perfectly  healthy  and  perfectly 
delightful  body  was  clear  of  the  cramped  convey 
ance. 

"Hello,  Todd!"  he  burst  out,  his  face  aglow  with 
his  drive  from  the  boat-landing — "glad  to  see  you! 
Here,  take  hold  of  these  guns — easy  now,  they  won't 
hurt  you;  one  at  a  time,  you  lunkhead!  And  now 
pull  those  ducks  from  under  the  seat.  How's  Aunt 
Jemima? — Oh,  is  that  you  aunty?"  She  had  come 
on  the  run  as  soon  as  she  heard  the  dogs.  "Every 
thing  all  right,  aunty — howdy — "  and  he  shook  her 
hand  heartily. 

The  old  woman  had  made  a  feint  to  pull  her  sleeves 
down  over  her  plump  black  arms  and  then,  begrudg 
ing  the  delay,  had  grasped  his  outstretched  hand, 
her  face  in  a  broad  grin. 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Yes,  sah,  dat's  me.  Clar'  to  goodness,  Marse 
George,  Fs  glad  ter  git  ye  home.  Lawd-a-massy,  see 
dem  ducks!  Purty  fat,  ain't  dey,  sah?  My! — dat 
pair's  jes'  a-bustin'!  G'long  you  fool  nigger  an*  let 
me  hab  'em!  G'way  f'om  dere  I  tell  ye!" 

"  No, — you  pick  them  up,  Todd — they're  too  heavy 
for  you,  aunty.  You  go  back  to  your  kitchen  and 
hurry  up  breakfast — waffles,  remember, — and  some 
corn  pone  and  a  scallop  shell  or  two — I'm  as  hungry 
as  a  bear." 

The  whole  party  were  mounting  the  steps  now,  St. 
George  carrying  the  guns,  Todd  loaded  down  with 
the  game — ten  brace  of  canvas-backs  and  redheads 
strung  together  by  their  bills — the  driver  of  the  gig 
following  with  the  master's  big  ducking  overcoat  and 
smaller  traps — the  four  dogs  crowding  up  trying  to 
nose  past  for  a  dash  into  the  wide  hall  as  soon  as  Todd 
opened  the  door. 

"Anybody  been  here  lately,  Todd?"  his  master 
asked,  stopping  for  a  moment  to  get  a  better  grip 
of  his  heaviest  duck  gun. 

"Ain't  nobody  been  yere  partic'ler  'cept  Mister 
Harry  Rutter.  Dey  alls  knowed  you  was  away. 
Been  yere  mos'  ev'ry  day — come  ag'in  yisterday." 

"Mr.  Rutter  been  here!— Well,  what  did  he  want?" 

"Dunno,  sah, — didn't  say.  Seemed  consid'ble 
shook  up  when  he  foun'  you  warn't  to  home.  I  done 
tol'  him  you  might  be  back  to-day  an'  den  ag'in  you 
mightn't — 'pended  on  de  way  de  ducks  was  flyin'. 
Spec'  he'll  be  roun'  ag'in  purty  soon — seemed  ter  hab 

12 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

sumpin'  on  his  min'.  I'll  tu'n  de  knob,  sah.  Yere — 
git  down,  you  imp  o'  darkness, — you  Floe! — you 
Dandy!  Drat  dem  dogs! — Yere,  yere!"  but  all  four 
dogs  were  inside  now,  making  a  sweepstakes  of  the 
living-room,  the  rugs  and  cushions  flying  in  every 
direction. 

Although  Todd  had  spent  most  of  the  minutes  since 
daylight  peering  up  and  down  the  Square,  eager  for 
the  first  sight  of  the  man  whom  he  loved  with  an  idol 
atry  only  to  be  found  in  the  negro  for  a  white  man 
whom  he  respects,  and  who  is  kind  to  him,  he  had  not 
neglected  any  of  his  other  duties.  There  was  a  roar 
ing  wood  fire  behind  brass  andirons  and  fender. 
There  was  a  breakfast  table  set  for  two — St.  George's 
invariable  custom.  "Somebody  might  drop  in,  you 
know,  Todd."  There  was  a  big  easy-chair  moved  up 
within  warming  distance  of  the  cheery  blaze;  there 
were  pipes  and  tobacco  within  reach  of  the  master's 
hand;  there  was  the  weekly  newspaper  folded  neatly 
on  the  mantel,  and  a  tray  holding  an  old-fashioned 
squat  decanter  and  the  necessary  glasses — in  fact,  all 
the  comforts  possible  and  necessary  for  a  man  who 
having  at  twenty-five  given  up  all  hope  of  wedded  life, 
found  himself  at  fifty  becoming  accustomed  to  its  loss. 

St.  George  seized  the  nearest  dog  by  the  collar, 
cuffed  him  into  obedience  as  an  example  to  the  others, 
ordered  the  four  to  the  hearth  rug,  ran  his  eye  along 
the  mantel  to  see  what  letters  had  arrived  in  his  ab 
sence,  and  disappeared  into  his  bedroom.  From 
thence  he  emerged  half  an  hour  later  attired  in  the 

13 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

costume  of  the  day — a  jaunty  brown  velveteen  jacket, 
loose  red  scarf,  speckled  white  waistcoat — single- 
breasted  and  of  his  own  pattern  and  cut — dove-gray 
trousers,  and  white  gaiters.  No  town  clothes  for  St. 
George  as  long  as  his  measure  was  in  London  and  his 
friends  were  good  enough  to  bring  him  a  trunk  full 
every  year  or  two.  "  Well-cut  garments  may  not  make 
a  gentleman,"  he  would  often  say  to  the  youngsters 
about  him,  "but  slip-shod  clothes  can  spoil  one." 

He  had  drawn  up  to  the  table  now,  Todd  in  white 
jacket  hovering  about  him,  bringing  relays  of  waffles, 
hot  coffee,  and  more  particularly  the  first  of  a  series  of 
great  scallop-shells  filled  with  oysters  which  he  had 
placed  on  the  well-brushed  hearth  to  keep  hot  while 
his  master  was  dressing. 

Fifty  he  was  by  the  almanac,  and  by  the  old  family 
Bible  as  well,  and  yet  he  did  not  look  it.  Six  feet  and 
an  inch;  straight,  ruddy-cheeked,  broad-shouldered, 
well-rounded,  but  with  his  waist  measure  still  under 
control;  slightly  gray  at  the  temples,  with  clean 
shaven  face,  laughing  eyes,  white  teeth,  and  finely 
moulded  nose,  brow,  and  chin,  he  was  everything  his 
friends  claimed — the  perfect  embodiment  of  all  that 
was  best  in  his  class  and  station,  and  of  all  that  his 
blood  had  bequeathed  him. 

And  fine  old  fellows  they  were  if  we  can  believe 
the  historians  of  the  seventeenth  century:  "Wearing 
the  falchion  and  the  rapier,  the  cloth  coat  lined  with 
plush  and  embroidered  belt,  the  gold  hat-band  and 
the  feathers,  silk  stockings  and  garters,  besides  signet 

14 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

rings  and  other  jewels;  wainscoting  the  walls  of  their 
principal  rooms  in  black  oak  and  loading  their  side 
boards  with  a  deal  of  rich  and  massive  silver  plate  upon 
which  was  carved  the  arms  of  their  ancestors; — drink 
ing,  too,  strong  punch  and  sack  from ' silver  sack-cups' 
— (sack  being  their  favorite) — and  feasting  upon  oys 
ters  and  the  most  delicious  of  all  the  ducks  of  the 
world." 

And  in  none  of  their  other  distinguishing  qualities 
was  their  descendant  lacking.  In  the  very  lift  of  his 
head  and  brace  of  his  shoulders;  in  the  grace  and  ease 
with  which  he  crossed  the  room,  one  could  see  at  a 
glance  something  of  the  dash  and  often  the  repose  of 
the  cavalier  from  whom  he  had  sprung.  And  the 
sympathy,  kindness,  and  courtesy  of  the  man  that 
showed  in  every  glance  of  his  eye  and  every  movement 
of  his  body — despite  his  occasional  explosive  temper — 
a  sympathy  that  drifted  into  an  ungovernable  impulse 
to  divide  everything  he  owned  into  two  parts,  and  his 
own  half  into  two  once  more  if  the  other  fellow  needed 
it;  a  kindness  that  made  every  man  his  friend,  and  a 
courtesy  which,  even  in  a  time  when  men  lifted  their 
hats  to  men,  as  well  as  to  women,  had  gained  for 
him,  the  town  over,  the  soubriquet  of  "Gentleman 
George";  while  to  every  young  girl  and  youth  under 
twenty  he  was  just  "dear  Uncle  George" — the  one 
man  in  all  Kennedy  Square  who  held  their  secrets. 

But  to  our  breakfast  once  more.  All  four  dogs  were 
on  their  feet  now,  their  tails  wagging  expectantly,  their 

15 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

noses  at  each  of  his  knees,  where  they  were  regaled  at 
regular  intervals  with  choice  bits  from  his  plate,  the 
snapping  of  their  solemn  jaws  expressing  their  thanks. 
A  second  scallop-shell  was  next  lifted  from  the  hearth 
with  the  tongs,  and  deposited  sizzling  hot  on  a  plate 
beside  the  master,  the  aroma  of  the  oysters  filling  the 
room.  These  having  disappeared,  as  had  the  former 
one,  together  with  the  waffles  and  coffee,  and  the 
master's  appetite  being  now  on  the  wane,  general  con 
versation  became  possible. 

"Did  Mr.  Rutter  look  ill,  Todd?"  he  continued, 
picking  up  the  thread  of  the  talk  where  he  had  left  it. 
"He  wasn't  very  well  when  I  left." 

"No,  sah, — neber  see  him  look  better.  Been  up  a 
liT  late  I  reckon, — Marse  Harry  mos'  gen'ally  is  a  KT 
mite  late,  sah—"  Todd  chuckled.  "But  dat  ain't 
nuthin'  to  dese  gemmans.  But  he  sho'  do  wanter  see 
ye.  Maybe  he  stayed  all  night  at  Mister  Seymour's. 
If  he  did  an'  he  yered  de  rumpus  dese  rapscallions 
kicked  up — yes — dat's  you  I'm  talkin'  to" — and  he 
looked  toward  the  dogs — "he'll  be  roun'  yere  'fo'  ye 
gits  fru  yo'  bre'kfus'.  Dey  do  say  as  how  Marse 
Harry's  mighty  sweet  in  dat  quarter.  Mister  Lang- 
don  Willits's  snoopin'  roun'  too,  but  Miss  Kate  ain't 
got  no  use  fer  him.  He  ain't  quality  dey  say." 

His  master  let  him  run  on.  Aunt  Jemima  was 
Todd's  only  outlet  during  his  master's  absence,  and  as 
this  was  sometimes  clogged  by  an  uplifted  broom,  he 
made  the  best  use  he  could  of  the  opportunities  when 
he  and  his  master  were  alone.  When  "comp'ny" 

16 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

were  present  he  was  as  close-mouthed  as  a  clam  and 
as  noiseless  as  a  crab. 

"Who  told  you  all  this  gossip,  Todd?"  exclaimed 
St.  George  with  a  smile,  laying  down  his  knife  and  fork. 

"Ain't  nary  one  toY  me — ain't  no  use  bein'  toP. 
All  ye  got  to  do  is  to  keep  yo'  eyes  open.  Be  a  weddin' 
dar  'fo'  spring.  Look  out,  sah — dat  shell's  still 
a-sizzlin'.  Mo'  coffee,  sah  ?  Wait  till  I  gits  some  hot 
waffles — won't  take  a  minute!"  and  he  was  out  of  the 
room  and  downstairs  before  his  master  could  answer. 

Hardly  had  he  slammed  the  kitchen  door  behind 
him  when  the  clatter  and  stamp  of  a  horse's  hoofs 
were  heard  outside,  followed  by  an  impatient  rat-a-tat- 
tat  on  the  knocker. 

The  boy  dropped  his  dishes:  "Fo'  Gawd,  dat's 
Mister  Harry!"  he  cried  as  he  started  on  a  run  for  the 
door.  "  Don't  nobody  bang  de  do'  down  like  dat  but 
him." 

A  slender,  thoroughly  graceful  young  fellow  of 
twenty-one  or  two,  booted  and  spurred,  his  dark  eyes 
flashing,  his  face  tingling  with  the  sting  of  the  early 
morning  air,  dashed  past  the  obsequious  darky  and 
burst  into  Temple's  presence  with  the  rush  of  a  north 
west  breeze.  He  had  ridden  ten  miles  since  he  vaulted 
into  the  saddle,  had  never  drawn  rein  uphill  or  down, 
and  neither  he  nor  the  thoroughbred  pawing  the 
mud  outside  had  turned  a  hair. 

"  Hello,  Uncle  George! "  Temple,  as  has  been  said, 
was  Uncle  George  to  every  girl  and  youth  in  Kennedy 
Square. 

17 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Why,  Harry !"  He  had  sprung  from  his  seat, 
napkin  in  hand  and  had  him  by  both  shoulders,  look 
ing  into  his  eyes  as  if  he  wanted  to  hug  him,  and 
would  the  first  thing  he  knew.  "  Where  are  you  from 
— Moorlands?  What  a  rollicking  chap  you  are,  and 
you  look  so  well  and  handsome,  you  dog!  And  now 
tell  me  of  your  dear  mother  and  your  father.  But 
first  down  with  you — here — right  opposite — always 
your  place,  my  dear  Harry.  Todd,  another  shell  of 
oysters  and  more  waffles  and  coffee — everything, 
Todd,  and  blazing  hot:  two  shells,  Todd — the  sight 
of  you,  Harry,  makes  me  ravenous  again,  and  I  could 
have  eaten  my  boots,  when  I  got  home  an  hour  ago, 
I  was  so  hungry.  But  the  mare" — here  he  moved  to 
the  window — "  is  she  all  right  ?  Spitfire,  I  suppose — 
you'd  kill  anything  else,  you  rascal!  But  you  haven't 
tied  her!" 

"No — never  tie  her — break  her  heart  if  I  did. 
Todd,  hang  up  this  coat  and  hat  in  the  hall  before 
you  go." 

"That's  what  you  said  of  that  horse  you  bought  of 
Hampson — ran  away,  didn't  he?"  persisted  his  host, 
his  eyes  on  the  mare,  which  had  now  become  quiet. 

"Yes,  and  broke  his  leg.  But  Spitfire's  all  right — 
she'll  stand.  Where  will  I  sit — here  ?  And  now  what 
kind  of  a  time  did  you  have,  and  who  were  with  you  ?  " 

"  Clayton,  Doctor  Teackle,  and  the  judge." 

"And  how  many  ducks  did  you  get?"  and  he 
dropped  into  his  chair. 

"Twenty-one,"  answered  St.  George,  dry- washing 
18 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

his  white  shapely  hands,  as  he  took  his  seat — a  habit 
of  his  when  greatly  pleased. 

"All  canvas-backs?" 

"No — five  redheads  and  a  mallard." 

"  Where  did  you  put  up  ?  "  echoed  Harry,  loosening 
his  riding-jacket  to  give  his  knife  and  fork  freer  play. 

"I  spent  a  week  at  Tom  Coston's  and  a  week  at 
Craddock.  Another  lump  of  sugar,  Todd." 

The  boy  laughed  gently:  "Lazy  Tom's?" 

"Lazy  Tom's — and  the  best-hearted  fellow  in  the 
world.  They're  going  to  make  him  a  judge,  they  say 
and " 

" — What  of — peach  brandy?  No  cream  in  mine, 
Todd." 

"  No — you  scurrilous  dog — of  the  Common  Court," 
retorted  St.  George,  looking  at  him  over  the  top  of 
his  cup.  "Very  good  lawyer  is  Tom — got  horse 
sense  and  can  speak  the  truth — make  a  very  good 
judge." 

Again  Harry  laughed — rather  a  forced  laugh  this 
time,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  make  himself  agreeable — 
but  with  so  anxious  a  ring  through  it  that  Todd 
busied  himself  about  the  table  before  going  below  for 
fresh  supplies,  making  excuse  of  collecting  the  used 
dishes.  If  there  were  to  be  any  revelations  concern 
ing  the  situation  at  the  Seymour  house,  he  did  not 
intend  to  miss  any  part  of  them. 

"  Better  put  Mrs.  Coston  on  the  bench  and  set  Tom 
to  rocking  the  cradle,"  said  the  young  man,  reaching 
for  the  plate  of  corn  pone.  "  She's  a  thoroughbred  if 

19 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

ever  I  saw  one,  and  does  credit  to  her  blood.  But  go 
on — tell  me  about  the  birds.  Are  they  flying  high  ? — 
and  the  duck  blinds;  have  they  fixed  them  up  ?  They 
were  all  going  to  pot  when  I  was  there  last." 

"Birds  out  of  range,  most  of  them — hard  work 
getting  what  I  did.  As  to  the  blinds,  they  are  still 
half  full  of  water — got  soaking  wet  trying  to  use  one. 
I  shot  most  of  mine  from  the  boat  just  as  the  day 
broke,"  and  then  followed  a  full  account  of  what  the 
party  had  bagged,  with  details  of  every  day's  adven 
tures.  This  done,  St.  George  pushed  back  his  chair 
and  faced  the  young  man. 

"And  now  you  take  the  witness-stand,  sir — look 
me  in  the  eyes,  put  your  hand  on  your  fob-pocket  and 
tell  me  the  truth.  Todd  says  you  have  been  here 
every  day  for  a  week  looking  as  if  you  had  lost  your 
last  fip-penny-bit  and  wild  to  see  me.  What  has 
happened?" 

"Todd  has  a  vivid  imagination."  He  turned  in 
his  seat,  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  catching  one  of 
the  dogs  by  the  nose  rubbed  his  head  vigorously. 

"Go  on — all  of  it — no  dodging  the  king's  counsel 
lor.  What's  the  matter?" 

The  young  man  glanced  furtively  at  Todd,  grabbed 
another  dog,  rubbed  their  two  ears  together  in  play, 
and  in  a  lowered  voice,  through  which  a  tinge  of  sad 
ness  was  only  too  apparent,  murmured: 

"Miss  Kate — we've  had  a  falling  out." 

St.  George  lowered  his  head  suddenly  and  gave  a 
low  whistle: — "Falling  out? — what  about?" 

20 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Again  young  Rutter  glanced  at  Todd,  whose  back 
was  turned,  but  whose  ears  were  stretched  to  splitting 
point.  His  host  nodded  understandingly. 

"  There,  Todd — that  will  do ;  now  go  down  and  get 
your  breakfast.  No  more  waffles,  tell  Aunt  Jemima. 
Bring  the  pipes  over  here  and  throw  on  another  log  .  .  . 
that's  right."  A  great  sputtering  of  sparks  followed — 
a  spider-legged,  mahogany  table  was  wheeled  into 
place,  and  the  dejected  darky  left  the  room  for  the 
regions  below. 

"  So  you  two  have  had  a  quarrel !  Oh,  Harry ! — when 
will  you  learn  to  think  twice  before  you  speak  ?  Whose 
fault  was  it?"  sighed  St.  George,  filling  the  bowl  of 
his  pipe  with  his  slender  fingers,  slowly  tucking  in 
each  shred  and  grain. 

"Mine." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "     (Puff-puff.) 

"  Nothing — I  couldn't.  She  came  in  and  saw  it  all." 
The  boy  had  his  elbows  on  the  table  now,  his  cheeks 
sunk  in  his  hands. 

St.  George  looked  up:"  Drunk,  were  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Where?" 

"At  Mrs.  Cheston's  ball  last  week." 

"  Have  you  seen  her  since  ?  " 

"No — she  won't  let  me  come  near  her.  Mr.  Sey 
mour  passed  me  yesterday  and  hardly  spoke  to  me." 

St.  George  canted  his  chair  and  zigzagged  it  toward 
the  blazing  hearth;  then  he  said  thoughtfully,  without 
looking  at  the  young  man: 

21 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Well,  this  is  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish!  Have  you 
told  your  father?" 

"No — he  wouldn't  understand." 

"And  I  know  you  didn't  tell  your  mother."  This 
came  with  the  tone  of  positive  conviction. 

"No — and  don't  you.  Mother  is  daft  on  the  sub 
ject.  If  she  had  her  way,  father  would  never  put  a 
drop  of  wine  on  the  table.  She  says  it  is  ruining  the 
county — but  that's  mother's  way." 

St.  George  stooped  over,  fondled  one  of  the  dogs 
for  a  moment — two  had  followed  Todd  out  of  the 
room — settled  back  in  his  chair  again,  and  still  look 
ing  into  the  fire,  said  slowly: 

"Bad  business — bad  business,  Harry!  Kate  is  as 
proud  as  Lucifer  and  dislikes  nothing  on  earth  so  much 
as  being  made  conspicuous.  Tell  me  exactly  what 
happened." 

"Well,  there  isn't  anything  to  tell,"  replied  the 
young  fellow,  raising  his  head  and  leaning  back  in  his 
chair,  his  face  the  picture  of  despair.  "We  were  all 
in  the  library  and  the  place  was  boiling-hot,  and  they 
had  two  big  bowls,  one  full  of  eggnog  and  the  other 
full  of  apple-toddy:  and  the  next  thing  I  knew  I  was 
out  in  the  hall  and  met  Kate  on  the  stairs.  She  gave 
a  little  smothered  scream,  and  moaned — 'Oh,  Harry! 
— and  you  promised  me!' — and  then  she  put  her 
hands  to  her  face,  as  if  to  shut  me  out  of  her  sight. 
That  sobered  me  somewhat,  and  after  I  got  out  on 
the  porch  into  the  night  air  and  had  pulled  my 
self  together,  I  tried  to  find  her  and  apologize,  but 

22 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

she  had  gone  home,  although  the  ball  wasn't  half 
over." 

"Then  this  was  not  the  first  time?"  He  was  still 
gazing  at  the  hot  coals,  both  hands  outfanned,  to 
screen  his  face  from  the  blaze. 

"No — I'm  sorry  to  say  it  wasn't.  I  told  her  I 
would  never  fail  her  again,  and  she  forgave  me,  but  I 
don't  know  what  she'll  do  now.  She  never  forgives 
anybody  who  breaks  his  word — she's  very  queer  about 
it.  That's  what  I  came  to  see  you  about.  I  haven't 
slept  much  nights,  thinking  it  over,  and  so  I  had  the 
mare  saddled,  as  soon  as  it  got  light,  hoping  you  would 
be  home.  Todd  thought  you  might  be — he  saw  Dr. 
Teackle's  Joe,  who  said  you  were  all  coming  to-day." 

Again  there  was  a  long  pause,  during  which  Tem 
ple  continued  to  study  the  coals  through  his  open 
fingers,  the  young  man  sitting  hunched  up  in  his 
chair,  his  handsome  head  dropped  between  his  shoul 
ders,  his  glossy  chestnut  hair,  a-frouze  with  his 
morning  ride,  fringing  his  collar  behind. 

"Harry,"  said  St.  George,  knocking  the  ashes 
slowly  from  his  pipe  on  the  edge  of  the  fender,  and 
turning  his  face  for  the  first  time  toward  him, — "didn't 
I  hear  something  before  I  went  away  about  a  ball  at 
your  father's — or  a  dance — or  something,  when  your 
engagement  was  to  be  announced?" 

The  boy  nodded. 

"And  was  it  not  to  be  something  out  of  the  ordi 
nary?"  he  continued,  looking  at  the  boy  from  under 
his  eyelids — "Teackle  certainly  told  me  so — said  that 

23 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

your  mother  had  already  begun  to  get  the  house  in 
order " 

Again  Harry  nodded — as  if  he  had  been  listening  to 
an  indictment,  every  word  of  which  he  knew  was  true. 

St.  George  roused  himself  and  faced  his  guest: 
"And  yet  you  took  this  time,  Harry,  to " 

The  boy  threw  up  both  hands  in  protest: 

"  Don' tl— don't!  Uncle  George!  It's  the  ball  that 
makes  it  all  the  worse.  That's  why  I've  got  no  time 
to  lose;  that's  why  I've  haunted  this  place  waiting  for 
you  to  get  back.  Mother  will  be  heart-broken  if  she 
finds  out  and  I  don't  know  what  father  would  do." 

St.  George  laid  his  empty  pipe  on  the  table  and 
straightened  his  body  in  the  chair  until  his  broad 
shoulders  filled  the  back.  Then  his  brow  darkened; 
his  indignation  was  getting  the  better  of  him. 

"  I  don't  know  what  has  come  over  you  young  fel 
lows,  Harry!"  he  at  last  broke  out,  his  eyes  searching 
the  boy's.  "You  don't  seem  to  know  how  to  live. 
You've  got  to  pull  a  shoat  out  of  a  trough  to  keep  it 
from  overeating  itself,  but  you  shouldn't  be  obliged 
to  pull  a  gentleman  away  from  his  glass.  Good  wine 
is  good  food  and  should  be  treated  as  such.  My  cellar 
is  stocked  with  old  Madeira — some  port — some  fine 
sherries — so  is  your  father's.  Have  you  ever  seen  him 
abuse  them? — have  you  ever  seen  Mr.  Horn  or  Mr. 
Kennedy,  or  any  of  our  gentlemen  around  here,  abuse 
them?  It's  scandalous,  Harry!  damnable!  I  love 
you,  my  son — love  you  in  a  way  you  know  nothing  of, 
but  you've  got  to  stop  this  sort  of  thing  right  off.  And 

24 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

so  have  these  young  roysterers  you  associate  with.  It's 
getting  worse  every  day.  I  don't  wonder  your  dear 
mother  feels  about  it  as  she  does.  But  she's  always 
been  that  way,  and  she's  always  been  right  about  it, 
too,  although  I  didn't  use  to  think  so."  This  last 
-came  with  a  lowered  voice  and  a  deep,  indrawn 
sigh,  and  for  the  moment  checked  the  flow  of  his 
"wrath. 

Harry  hung  his  head  still  lower,  but  he  did  not 
.attempt  to  defend  himself. 

"Who  else  were  making  vulgarians  of  themselves 
;at  Mrs.  Cheston's?"  St.  George  continued  in  a  calmer 
tone,  stretching  his  shapely  legs  until  the  soles  of  his 
shoes  touched  the  fender. 

"Mark  Gilbert,  Tom  Murdoch,  Langdon  Willits, 
and " 

"Willits,  eh?— Well,  I  should  expect  it  of  Willits. 
He  wasn't  born  a  gentleman — that  is,  his  grandfather 
wasn't  a  gentleman — married  his  overseer's  daughter, 
if  I  remember  right: — but  you  come  of  the  best  blood 
in  the  State, — egad! — none  better!  You  have  some 
thing  to  maintain — some  standard  to  keep  up.  A  Rut- 
ter  should  never  be  found  guilty  of  anything  that  would 
degrade  his  name.  You  seem  to  forget  that — you — 
damn  me,  Harry ! — when  I  think  of  it  all — and  of  Kate 
— my  sweet,  lovely  Kate, — and  how  you  have  made 
her  suffer — for  she  loves  you — no  question  of  that — I 
feel  like  wringing  your  neck!  What  the  devil  do  you 
mean,  sir?"  He  was  up  on  his  feet  now,  pacing  the 
Toom,  the  dogs  following  his  every  movement  with 

25 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

their  brown  agate  eyes,  their  soft,  silky  ears  straighten* 
ing  and  falling. 

So  far  the  young  fellow  had  not  moved  nor  had  he 
offered  a  word  in  defence.  He  knew  his  Uncle  George 
—better  let  him  blow  it  all  out,  then  the  two  could 
come  together.  At  last  he  said  in  a  contrite  tone — 
his  hands  upraised: 

"Don't  scold  me,  Uncle  George.  I've  scolded  my 
self  enough — just  say  something  to  help  me.  I  can't 
give  Kate  up — I'd  sooner  die.  I've  always  made  a 
fool  of  myself — maybe  I'll  quit  doing  it  after  this. 
Tell  me  how  I  can  straighten  this  out.  She  won't  see 
me — maybe  her  father  won't.  He  and  my  father — so 
Tom  Warfield  told  me  yesterday — had  a  talk  at  the 
club.  What  they  said  I  don't  know,  but  Mr.  Sey 
mour  was  pretty  mad — that  is,  for  him — so  Tom 
thought  from  the  way  he  spoke." 

"And  he  ought  to  be  mad — raging  mad!  He's  only 
got  one  daughter,  and  she  the  proudest  and  loveliest 
thing  on  earth,  and  that  one  he  intends  to  give  to  you" 
— Harry  looked  up  in  surprise — "Yes — he  told  me 
so.  And  here  you  are  breaking  her  heart  before  he 
has  announced  it  to  the  world.  It's  worse  than  damna 
ble,  Harry — it's  a  crime!" 

For  some  minutes  he  continued  his  walk,  stopping 
to  look  out  of  the  window,  his  eyes  on  the  mare  who, 
with  head  up  and  restless  eyes,  was  on  the  watch  for 
her  master's  return;  then  he  picked  up  his  pipe  from 
the  table,  threw  himself  into  his  chair  again,  and  broke 
into  one  of  his  ringing  laughs. 

26 


So  far  the  young  fellow  had  not  moved  nor  offered  a  word 
in  defence 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  I  reckon  it's  because  you're  twenty,  Harry,  I  forgot 
that.  Hot  blood — hot  temper, — madcap  dare-devil 
that  you  are — not  a  grain  of  common-sense.  But 
what  can  you  expect  ? — I  was  just  like  you  at  your  age. 
Come,  now,  what  shall  we  do  first?" 

The  voung  fellow  rose  and  a  smile  of  intense  relief 
crept  over  his  face.  He  had  had  many  such  over- 
haulings  from  his  uncle,  and  always  with  this  ending. 
Whenever  St.  George  let  out  one  of  those  big,  spon 
taneous,  bubbling  laughs  straight  from  his  heart,  the 
trouble,  no  matter  how  serious,  was  over.  What  some 
men  gained  by  anger  and  invective  St.  George  gained 
by  good  humor,  ranging  from  the  faint  smile  of  tolera 
tion  to  the  roar  of  merriment.  One  reason  why  he  had 
so  few  enemies — none,  practically — was  that  he  could 
invariably  disarm  an  adversary  with  a  laugh.  It  was 
a  fine  old  blade  that  he  wielded;  only  a  few  times  in 
his  life  had  he  been  called  upon  to  use  any  other — 
when  some  under-dog  was  maltreated,  or  his  own  good 
name  or  that  of  a  friend  was  traduced,  or  some  wrong 
had  to  be  righted — then  his  face  would  become  as  hot 
steel  and  there  would  belch  out  a  flame  of  denunciation 
that  would  scorch  and  blind  in  its  intensity.  None  of 
these  fiercer  moods  did  the  boy  know; — what  he  knew 
was  his  uncle's  merry  side — his  sympathetic,  loving 
side, — and  so,  following  up  his  advantage,  he  strode 
across  the  room,  settled  down  on  the  arm  of  his  uncle's 
chair,  and  put  his  arm  about  his  shoulders. 

"WTon't  you  go  and  see  her,  please?"  he  pleaded, 
patting  his  back,  affectionately. 

27 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"What  good  will  that  do?  Hand  me  a  match, 
Harry." 

"Everything — that's  what  I  came  for." 

"  Not  with  Kate!  She  isn't  a  child — she's  a  woman," 
he  echoed  back  between  the  puffs,  his  indignation  again 
on  the  rise.  "And  she  is  different  from  the  girls  about 
here,"  he  added,  tossing  the  burned  match  in  the  fire. 
"When  she  once  makes  up  her  mind  it  stays  made  up." 

" Don't  let  her  make  it  up!  Go  and  see  her  and  tell 
her  how  I  love  her  and  how  miserable  I  am.  Tell  her 
I'll  never  break  another  promise  to  her  as  long  as  I 
live.  Nobody  ever  holds  out  against  you.  Please, 
Uncle  George!  I'll  never  come  to  you  for  anything 
else  in  the  world  if  you'll  help  me  this  time.  And  I 
won't  drink  another  drop  of  anything  you  don't  want 
me  to  drink — I  don't  care  what  father  or  anybody 
else  says.  Oh,  you've  got  to  go  to  her! — I  can't  stand 
it  any  longer!  Every  time  I  think  of  Kate  hidden 
away  over  there  where  I  can't  get  at  her,  it  drives  me 
wild.  I  wouldn't  ask  you  to  go  if  I  could  go  myself 
and  talk  it  out  with  her — but  she  won't  let  me  near 
her — I've  tried,  and  tried;  and  Ben  says  she  isn't  at 
home,  and  knows  he  lies  when  he  says  it!  You  will 
go,  won't  you?" 

The  smoke  from  his  uncle's  pipe  was  coming  freer 
now — most  of  it  escaping  up  the  throat  of  the  chimney 
with  a  gentle  swoop. 

"When  do  you  want  me  to  go?"  He  had  already 
surrendered.  When  had  he  ever  held  out  when  a  Jove 
affair  was  to  be  patched  up? 

28 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Now,  right  away." 

"  No, — I'll  go  to-night, — she  will  be  at  home  then," 
he  said  at  last,  as  if  he  had  just  made  up  his  mind,  the 
pipe  having  helped — "  and  do  you  come  in  about  nine 
and — let  me  know  when  you  are  there,  or — better  still, 
wait  in  the  hall  until  I  come  for  you." 

"But  couldn't  I  steal  in  while  you  are  talking?" 

"No — you  do  just  as  I  tell  you.  Not  a  sound  out 
of  you,  remember,  until  I  call  you." 

"But  how  am  I  to  know?  She  might  go  out  the 
other  door  and 

"You'll  know  when  I  come  for  you." 

"And  you  think  it  will  be  all  right,  don't  you?"  he 
pleaded.  "You'll  tell  her  what  an  awful  time  I've 
had,  won't  you,  Uncle  George?" 

"Yes,  every  word  of  it." 

"And  that  I  haven't  slept  a  wink  since " 

"Yes — and  that  you  are  going  to  drown  yourself 
and  blow  your  head  off  and  swallow  poison.  Now  off 
with  you  and  let  me  think  how  I  am  to  begin  straight 
ening  out  this  idiotic  mess.  Nine  o'clock,  remember, 
and  in  the  hall  until  I  come  for  you." 

"  Yes — nine  o'clock !  Oh ! — you  good  Uncle  George ! 
I'll  never  forget  you  for  it,"  and  with  a  grasp  of  St. 
George's  hand  and  another  outpouring  of  gratitude, 
the  young  fellow  swung  wide  the  door,  clattered  down 
the  steps,  threw  his  leg  over  Spitfire,  and  dashed  up 
the  street. 


29 


CHAPTER  II 

If  Kate's  ancestors  had  wasted  any  part  of  their 
substance  in  too  lavish  a  hospitality,  after  the  manner 
of  the  spendthrift  whose  extravagances  were  recounted 
in  the  preceding  chapter,  there  was  nothing  to  indicate 
it  in  the  home  of  their  descendants.  No  loose  shut 
ters,  crumbling  chimneys,  or  blistered  woodwork  de 
faced  the  Seymour  mansion: — the  touch  of  the  restorer 
was  too  apparent.  No  sooner  did  a  shutter  sag  or  a 
hinge  give  way  than  away  it  went  to  the  carpenter  or 
the  blacksmith;  no  sooner  did  a  banister  wabble,  or  a 
table  crack,  or  an  andiron  lose  a  leg,  than  up  came 
somebody  with  a  kit,  or  a  bag,  or  a  box  of  tools,  and 
they  were  as  good  as  new  before  you  could  wink  your 
eye.  Indeed,  so  great  was  the  desire  to  keep  things 
up  that  it  was  only  necessary  (so  a  wag  said)  to  scratch 
a  match  on  old  Seymour's  front  door  to  have  its  panels 
repainted  the  next  morning. 

And  then  its  seclusion: — while  its  neighbors — the 
Temple  mansion  among  them — had  been  placed  boldly 
out  to  the  full  building  line  where  they  could  see  and 
be  seen,  the  Seymours,  with  that  spirit  of  aloofness 
which  had  marked  the  family  for  generations,  had  set 
their  dwelling  back  ten  paces,  thrown  up  a  hedge  of 
sweet-smelling  box  to  screen  the  inmates  from  the 

30 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

gaze  of  passers-by,  planted  three  or  four  big  trees  as 
protection  for  the  upper  windows,  and,  to  insure  still 
greater  privacy,  had  put  up  a  swinging  wooden  gate, 
kept  shut  by  a  ball  and  chain,  its  clang  announcing 
the  entrance  of  each  and  every  visitor. 

And  this  same  spirit  was  manifest  the  moment  you 
stepped  into  the  wide  hall,  glanced  at  the  old  family 
portraits  marching  steadily,  one  after  another,  up  the 
side  of  the  spacious  stairs  (revarnished  every  other 
year) — entered  the  great  drawing-room  hung  with  yel 
low  satin  and  decorated  with  quaint  mirrors,  and 
took  a  seat  in  one  of  the  all-embracing  arm-chairs,  there 
to  await  the  arrival  of  either  the  master  of  the  house 
or  his  charming  daughter. 

If  it  were  the  master  to  whom  you  wished  to  pay 
your  respects,  one  glance  at  the  Honorable  Howard 
Douglass  Seymour  would  have  convinced  you  that 
he  was  precisely  the  kind  of  man  who  should  have  had 
charge  of  so  well-ordered  a  home:  so  well  brushed  was 
he — so  clean-shaven — so  immaculately  upholstered — 
the  two  points  of  his  'collar  pinching  his  cheeks  at  the 
same  precise  angle;  his  faultless  black  stock  fitting 
to  perfection,  the  lapels  of  his  high-rolled  coat  match 
ing  exactly.  And  then  the  correct  parting  of  the  thin 
gray  hair  and  the  two  little  gray  brush-tails  of  love 
locks  that  were  combed  in  front  of  his  ears,  there  to 
become  a  part  of  the  two  little  dabs  of  gray  whiskers 
that  stretched  from  his  temples  to  his  bleached  cheek 
bones.  Yes — a  most  carefully  preserved,  prim,  and 
well-ordered  person  was  Kate's  father. 

31 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

As  to  the  great  man's  career,  apart  from  his  service 
in  the  legislature,  which  won  him  his  title,  there  was 
no  other  act  of  his  life  which  marked  him  apart  from 
his  fellows.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  he  was  born  a  gen 
tleman  without  a  penny  to  his  name;  that  he  married 
Kate's  mother  when  she  was  twenty  and  he  forty  (and 
here  is  another  story,  and  a  sad  one) — she  the  belle 
of  her  time — and  sole  heir  to  the  estate  of  her  grand 
father,  Captain  Hugh  Barkeley,  the  rich  ship-owner 
— and  that  the  alliance  had  made  him  a  gentleman  of 
unlimited  leisure,  she,  at  her  death,  having  left  all  her 
property  to  her  daughter  Kate,  with  the  Honorable 
Prim  as  custodian. 

And  this  trust,  to  his  credit  be  it  said — for  Seymour 
was  of  Scotch  descent,  a  point  in  his  favor  with  old 
Captain  Barkeley,  who  was  Scotch  on  his  mother's 
side,  and,  therefore,  somewhat  canny — was  most  re 
ligiously  kept,  he  living  within  his  ample  means — or 
Kate's,  which  was  the  same  thing — discharging  the 
duties  of  father,  citizen,  and  friend,  with  the  regular 
ity  of  a  clock — so  many  hours  with  his  daughter,  so 
many  hours  at  his  club,  so  many  hours  at  his  office; 
the  intermediate  minutes  being  given  over  to  resting, 
dressing,  breakfasting,  dining,  sleeping,  and  no  doubt 
praying;  the  precise  moment  that  marked  the  begin 
ning  and  ending  of  each  task  having  been  fixed  years 
in  advance  by  this  most  exemplary,  highly  respectable, 
and  utterly  colorless  old  gentleman  of  sixty. 

That  this  dry  shell  of  a  man  could  be  the  father  of 
our  spontaneous  lovely  Kate  was  one  of  the  things  that 

32 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

none  of  the  younger  people  around  Kennedy  Square 
could  understand — but  then  few  of  them  had  known 
her  beautiful  mother  with  her  proud  step  and  flashing 
eyes. 

But  it  is  not  the  punctilious,  methodical  Prim 
whom  St.  George  wishes  to  see  to-night;  nor  does  he 
go  through  any  of  the  formalities  customary  to  the 
house.  There  is  no  waiting  until  old  Ben,  the  family 
butler  in  snuff-colored  coat  and  silver  buttons,  shuf 
fles  upstairs  or  into  the  library,  or  wherever  the  in 
mates  were  to  be  found,  there  to  announce  "Massa 
George  Temple."  Nor  did  he  send  in  his  card,  or 
wait  until  his  knock  was  answered.  He  simply  swung 
back  the  gate  until  the  old  chain  and  ball,  shocked  at 
his  familiarity,  rattled  itself  into  a  rage,  strode  past 
the  neatly  trimmed,  fragrant  box,  pushed  open  the 
door — no  front  door  was  ever  locked  in  the  daytime 
in  Kennedy  Square,  and  few  at  night — and  halting 
at  the  bottom  step,  called  up  the  silent  stairs  in  a  voice 
that  was  a  joyous  greeting  in  itself: 

"Kate,  you  darling!  come  down  as  quick  as  your 
dear  little  feet  will  carry  you!  It's  Uncle  George, 
do  you  hear  ? — or  shall  I  come  up  and  bring  you  down 
in  my  arms,  you  bunch  of  roses?  It  won't  be  the 
first  time."  The  first  time  was  when  she  was  a  year 
old. 

"  Oh ! — is  that  you,  Uncle  George  ?  Yes, — just  as 
soon  as  I  do  up  my  back  hair."  The  voice  came  from 
the  top  of  the  stairs — a  lark's  voice  singing  down  from 

high  up.     "Father's  out  and " 

33 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Yes — I  know  he's  out;  I  met  him  on  his  way  to 
the  club.  Hurry  now — I've  got  the  best  news  in  the 
world  for  you." 

"Yes — in  a  minute." 

He  knew  her  minutes,  and  how  long  they  could  be, 
and  in  his  impatience  roamed  about  the  wide  hall  ex 
amining  the  old  English  engravings  and  colored  prints 
decorating  the  panels  until  he  heard  her  step  over 
head  and  looking  up  watched  her  cross  the  upper  hall, 
her  well-poised,  aristocratic  head  high  in  air,  her  full, 
well-rounded,  blossoming  body  imaged  in  the  loose 
embroidered  scarf  wound  about  her  sloping  shoulders. 
Soon  he  caught  the  wealth  of  her  blue-black  hair  in 
whose  folds  her  negro  mammy  had  pinned  a  rose  that 
matched  the  brilliancy  of  her  cheeks,  two  stray  curls 
wandering  over  her  neck;  her  broad  forehead,  with 
clearly  marked  eyebrows,  arching  black  lashes  shad 
ing  lustrous,  slumbering  eyes;  and  as  she  drew  nearer, 
her  warm  red  lips,  exquisite  teeth,  and  delicate  chin, 
and  last,  the  little  feet  that  played  hide  and  seek  be 
neath  her  quilted  petticoat:  a  tall,  dark,  full-blooded, 
handsome  girl  of  eighteen  with  an  air  of  command 
and  distinction  tempered  by  a  certain  sweet  dignity 
and  delicious  coquetry — a  woman  to  be  loved  even 
when  she  ruled  and  to  be  reverenced  even  when  she 
trifled. 

She  had  reached  the  floor  now,  and  the  two  arm  in 
arm,  he  patting  her  hand,  she  laughing  beside  him,  had 
entered  the  small  library  followed  by  the  old  butler 
bringing  another  big  candelabra  newly  lighted. 

34 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  It's  so  good  of  you  to  come,"  she  cried,  her  face 
alight  with  the  joy  of  seeing  him — "and  you  look  so 
happy  and  well — your  trip  down  the  bay  has  done 
you  a  world  of  good.  Ben  says  the  ducks  you  sent 
father  are  the  best  we  have  had  this  winter.  Now  tell 
me,  dear  Uncle  George" — she  had  him  in  one  of  the 
deep  arm-chairs  by  this  time,  with  a  cushion  behind 
his  shoulders — "I  am  dying  to  hear  all  about  it." 

"Don't  you  'dear  Uncle  George'  me  until  you've 
heard  what  I've  got  to  say." 

"  But  you  said  you  had  the  best  news  in  the  world 
for  me,"  she  laughed,  looking  at  him  from  under  her 
lashes. 

"So  I  have." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Harry." 

The  girl's  face  clouded  and  her  lips  quivered.  Then 
she  sat  bolt  upright. 

"  I  won't  hear  a  word  about  him.  He's  broken  his 
promise  to  me  and  I  will  never  trust  him  again.  If  I 
thought  you'd  come  to  talk  about  Harry,  I  wouldn't 
have  come  down." 

St.  George  lay  back  in  his  chair,  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders,  stole  a  look  at  her  from  beneath  his  bushy  eye 
brows,  and  said  with  an  assumed  dignity,  a  smile 
playing  about  his  lips: 

"All  right,  off  goes  his  head — exit  the  scoundrel. 
Much  as  I  could  do  to  keep  him  out  of  Jones  Falls 
this  morning,  but  of  course  now  it's  all  over  we  can 
let  Spitfire  break  his  neck.  That's  the  way  a  gentle- 

35 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

man  should  die  of  love — and  not  be  fished  out  of  a 
dirty  stream  with  his  clothes  all  bespattered  with 
mud." 

"  But  he  won't  die  for  love.  He  doesn't  know  what 
love  means  or  he  wouldn't  behave  as  he  does.  Do 
you  know  what  really  happened,  Uncle  George?" 
Her  brown  eyes  were  flashing,  her  cheeks  aflame  with 
her  indignation. 

"  Oh,  I  know  exactly  what  happened.  Harry  told 
me  with  the  tears  running  down  his  cheeks.  It  was 
dreadful  —  inexcusable  —  BARBAROUS!  I've  been 
that  way  myself — tumbled  half-way  down  these  same 
stairs  before  you  were  born  and  had  to  be  put  to  bed, 
which  accounts  for  the  miserable  scapegrace  I  am  to 
day."  His  face  was  in  a  broad  smile,  but  his  voice 
never  wavered. 

Kate  looked  at  him  and  put  out  her  hand.  "You 
never  did — I  won't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"Ask  your  father,  my  dear.  He  helped  carry  me 
upstairs,  and  Ben  pulled  off  my  boots.  Oh,  it  was 
most  disgraceful !  I'm  just  beginning  to  live  it  down," 
and  he  reached  over  and  patted  the  girl's  cheek,  his 
hearty  laugh  ringing  through  the  room. 

Kate  was  smiling  now — her  Uncle  George  was  al 
ways  irresistible  when  he  was  like  this. 

"  But  Harry  isn't  you,"  she  pouted. 

"Isn't  me! — why  I  was  ten  times  worse!  He's  only 
twenty-one  and  I  was  twenty-five.  He's  got  four  years 
the  better  of  me  in  which  to  reform." 

"  He'll  never  be  like  you — you  never  broke  a  promise 
36 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

in  your  life.  He  gave  me  his  word  of  honor  he  would 
never  get — yes — I'm  just  going  to  say  it — drunk — 
again:  yes — that's  the  very  word — Drunk!  I  don't 
care — I  won't  have  it!  I  won't  have  anything  to  do 
with  anybody  who  breaks  his  promise,  and  who  can't 
keep  sober.  My  father  was  never  so  in  his  life,  and 
Harry  shall  never  come  near  me  again  if  he " 

"Hold  on! — hold  on!  Oh,  what  an  unforgiving 
minx!  You  Seymours  are  all  like  tinder  boxes — your 
mother  was  just  like  you  and  so  was " 

"  Well,  not  father,"  she  bridled,  with  a  toss  of  her 
head. 

St.  George  smiled  queerly — Prim  was  one  of  his 
jokes.  "Your  father,  my  dear  Kate,  has  the  milk  of 
human  kindness  in  his  veins,  not  red  fighting  blood. 
That  makes  a  whole  lot  of  difference.  Now  listen  to 
me: — you  love  Harry " 

"No!  I  despise  him!  I  told  him  so!"  She  had 
risen  from  her  seat  and  had  moved  to  the  mantel,  where 
she  stood  looking  into  the  fire,  her  back  toward  him. 

"Don't  you  interrupt  me,  you  blessed  girl — just  you 
listen  to  Uncle  George  for  a  minute.  You  do  love 
Harry — you  can't  help  it — nobody  can.  If  you  had 
seen  him  this  morning  you  would  have  thrown  your 
arms  around  him  in  a  minute — I  came  near  doing  it 
myself.  Of  course  he's  wild,  reckless,  and  hot-headed 
like  all  the  Rutters  and  does  no  end  of  foolish  things, 
but  you  wouldn't  love  him  if  he  was  different.  He's 
just  like  Spitfire — never  keeps  still  a  minute — restless, 
pawing  the  ground,  or  all  four  feet  in  the  air — then 

37 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

away  she  goes!  You  can't  reason  with  her — you  don't 
wish  to;  you  get  impatient  when  she  chafes  at  the  bit 
because  you  are  determined  she  shall  keep  still,  but 
if  you  wanted  her  to  go  like  the  wind  and  she  couldn't, 
you'd  be  more  dissatisfied  than  ever.  The  pawing 
and  chafing  is  of  no  matter;  it  is  her  temperament 
that  counts.  So  it  is  with  Harry.  He  wouldn't  be  the 
lovable,  dashing,  high-spirited  young  fellow  he  is  if  he 
didn't  kick  over  the  traces  once  in  a  while  and  break 
everything  to  pieces — his  promises  among  them.  And 
it  isn't  his  fault — it's  the  Spanish  and  Dutch  blood  in 
his  veins — the  blood  of  that  old  hidalgo  and  his  Dutch 
ancestor,  De  Ruyter — that  crops  out  once  in  a  while. 
Harry  would  be  a  pirate  and  sweep  the  Spanish  main 
if  he  had  lived  in  those  days,  instead  of  being  a  gentle 
man  who  values  nothing  in  life  so  much  as  the  woman 
he  loves." 

He  had  been  speaking  to  her  back  all  this  time,  the 
girl  never  moving,  the  outlines  of  her  graceful  body  in 
silhouette  against  the  blaze. 

"  Then  why  doesn't  he  prove  it  ?  "  she  sighed.  She 
liked  old  hidalgos  and  had  no  aversion  to  pirates  if 
they  were  manly  and  brave  about  their  work. 

"  He  does — and  he  lives  up  to  his  standard  except 
in  this  one  failing  for  which  I  am  truly  sorry.  Abomi 
nable  I  grant  you — but  there  are  many  things  which 
are  worse." 

"  I  can't  think  of  anything  worse,"  she  echoed  with 
a  deep  sigh,  walking  slowly  toward  him  and  regaining 
her  chair,  all  her  anger  gone,  only  the  pain  in  her  heart 

38 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

left.  "I  don't  want  Harry  to  be  like  the  others,  and 
he  can't  live  their  lives  if  he's  going  to  be  my  husband. 
I  want  him  to  be  different, — to  be  big  and  fine  and 
strong, — like  the  men  who  have  made  the  world  better 
for  their  having  lived  in  it — that  old  De  Ruyter,  for  in 
stance,  that  his  father  is  always  bragging  about — not  a 
weak,  foolish  boy  whom  everybody  can  turn  around 
their  fingers.  Some  of  my  girl  friends  don't  mind 
what  the  young  men  do,  or  how  often  they  break  their 
word  to  them  so  that  they  are  sure  of  their  love.  I 
do,  and  I  won't  have  it,  and  I  have  told  Harry  so  over 
and  over  again.  It's  such  a  cowardly  thing — not  to 
be  man  enough  to  stand  up  and  say '  No — I  won't  drink 
with  you!'  That's  why  I  say  I  can't  think  of  his 
doing  anything  worse." 

St.  George  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her.  He  had  thought 
he  knew  the  girl's  heart,  but  this  was  a  revelation  to 
him.  Perhaps  her  sorrow,  like  that  of  her  mother, 
was  making  a  well-rounded  woman  of  her. 

"  Oh,  I  can  think  of  a  dozen  things  worse,"  he  re 
joined  with  some  positiveness.  "Harry  might  lie; 
Harry  might  be  a  coward;  Harry  might  stand  by  and 
hear  a  friend  defamed;  Harry  might  be  discourteous 
to  a  woman,  or  allow  another  man  to  be — a  thing  he'd 
rather  die  than  permit.  None  of  these  things  could 
he  be  or  do.  I'd  shut  my  door  in  his  face  if  he  did 
any  one  of  them,  and  so  should  you.  And  then  he  is 
so  penitent  when  he  has  done  anything  wrong.  'It 
was  my  fault — I  would  rather  hang  myself  than  lose 
Kate.  I  haven't  slept  a  wink,  Uncle  George.'  And 

39 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

he  was  so  handsome  when  he  came  in  this  morning — 
his  big  black  eyes  flashing,  his  cheeks  like  two  roses — 
so  straight  and  strong,  and  so  graceful  and  wholesome 
and  lovable.  I  wouldn't  care,  if  I  were  you,  if  he  did 
slip  once  in  a  while — not  any  more  than  I  would  if 
Spitfire  stumbled.  And  then  again" — here  he  moved 
his  chair  close  to  her  own  so  he  could  get  his  hand  on 
hers  the  easier — "  if  Spitfire  does  stumble,  there  is  the 
bridle  to  pull  her  up,  but  for  this  she  might  break  her 
neck.  That's  where  you  come  in,  Kate.  Harry's  in 
jour  hands — has  been  since  the  hour  he  loved  you. 
Don't  let  him  go  headlong  to  the  devil — and  he  will 
if  you  turn  him  loose  without  a  bridle." 

"I  can't  do  him  any  good — he  won't  mind  anything 
I  say.  And  what  dependence  can  I  place  on  him  after 
this  ?"  her  voice  sank  to  a  tone  of  helpless  tenderness. 
"It  isn't  his  being  drunk  altogether;  he  will  outgrow 
that,  perhaps,  as  you  say  you  did,  and  be  man  enough 
to  say  no  next  time;  but  it's  because  he  broke  his 
promise  to  me.  That  he  will  never  outgrow!  Oh,  it's 
wicked! — wicked  for  him  to  treat  me  so.  I  have 
never  done  anything  he  didn't  want  me  to  do!  and  he 
has  no  right  to — Oh,  Uncle  George,  it's " 

St.  George  leaned  nearer  and  covered  her  limp  fin 
gers  with  his  own  tender  grasp. 

"Try  him  once  more,  Kate.  Let  me  send  him  to 
you.  It  will  be  all  over  in  a  minute  and  you  will  be 
so  happy — both  of  you!  Nothing  like  making  up — 
it  really  pays  for  the  pain  of  a  quarrel." 

The  outside  door  shut  gently  and  there  was  a  slight 
40 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

movement  in  the  hall  behind  them,  but  neither  of  them 
noticed  it.  Kate  sat  with  her  head  up,  her  mind  at 
work,  her  eyes  watching  the  firelight.  It  was  her 
future  she  was  looking  into.  She  had  positive,  fixed 
ideas  of  what  her  station  in  life  as  a  married  woman 
should  be; — not  what  her  own  or  Harry's  birth  and 
position  could  bring  her.  With  that  will-o'-the-wisp 
she  had  no  sympathy.  Her  grandfather  in  his  early 
days  had  been  a  plain,  seafaring  man  even  if  his  an 
cestry  did  go  back  to  the  time  of  James  I,  and  her 
mother  had  been  a  lady,  and  that  too  without  the  ad 
mixture  of  a  single  drop  of  the  blood  of  any  Kennedy 
Square  aristocrat.  That  Harry  was  well  born  and 
well  bred  was  as  it  should  be,  but  there  was  something 
more; — the  man  himself.  That  was  why  she  hesi 
tated.  Yes — it  would  "all  be  over  in  a  minute," 
just  as  Uncle  George  said,  but  when  would  the  next 
break  come  ?  And  then  again  there  was  her  mother's 
life  with  all  the  misery  that  a  broken  promise  had 
caused  her.  Uncle  George  was  not  the  only  young 
gallant  who  had  been  put  to  bed  in  her  grandfather's 
house.  Her  mother  had  loved  too — just  as  much 
as  she  loved  Harry — loved  with  her  whole  soul — until 
grandpa  Barkeley  put  his  foot  down. 

St.  George  waited  in  silence  as  he  read  her  mind. 
Breaches  between  most  of  the  boys  and  girls  were 
easily  patched  up — a  hearty  cry,  an  outstretched  hand 
— "I  am  so  sorry,"  and  they  were  in  each  other's  arms. 
Not  so  with  Kate.  Her  reason,  as  well  as  her  heart, 
had  to  be  satisfied.  This  was  one  of  the  things  that 

41 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

made  her  different  from  all  the  other  girls  about  her, 
and  this  too  was  what  had  given  her  first  place  in  the 
affections  and  respect  of  all  who  knew  her.  Her  heart 
he  saw  was  uppermost  to-night,  but  reason  still  lurked 
in  the  background. 

"  What  do  you  think  made  him  do  it  again  ? "  she 
murmured  at  last  in  a  voice  barely  audible,  her  fingers 
tightening  in  his  palm.  "  He  knows  how  I  suffer  and 
he  knows  too  why  I  suffer.  Oh,  Uncle  George! — 
won't  you  please  talk  to  him!  I  love  him  so,  and  I 
can't  marry  him  if  he's  like  this.  I  can't! — I  can't!" 

A  restrained  smile  played  over  St.  George's  face. 
The  tide  was  setting  his  way. 

"  It  won't  do  a  bit  of  good,"  he  said  calmly,  smother 
ing  his  joy.  "  I've  talked  to  him  until  I'm  tired,  and 
the  longer  I  talk  the  more  wild  he  is  to  see  you.  Now 
it's  your  turn  and  there's  no  time  to  lose.  I'll  have 
him  here  in  five  minutes,"  and  he  glanced  at  the  clock. 
She  raised  her  hand  in  alarm: 

"  I  don't  want  him  yet.  You  must  see  him  first — 
you  must " 

"No,  I  won't  see  him  first,  and  I'm  not  going  to 
wait  a  minute.  Talk  to  him  yourself;  put  your  arms 
around  him  and  tell  him  everything  you  have  told  me 
— now — to-night.  I'm  going  for  him,"  and  he  sprang 
to  his  feet. 

"No! — you  must  not!  You  sliall  not!"  she  cried, 
clutching  nervously  at  his  arm,  but  he  was  out  of  the 
room  before  she  could  stop  him. 

In  the  silent  hall,  hat  in  hand,  his  whole  body 
42 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

tense  with  expectancy,  stood  Harry.  He  had  killed 
time  by  walking  up  and  down  the  long  strip  of  car 
pet  between  the  front  door  and  the  staircase,  meas 
uring  his  nervous  steps  to  the  length  of  the  pattern, 
his  mind  distracted  by  his  fears  for  the  outcome — his 
heart  thumping  away  at  his  throat,  a  dull  fright  grip 
ping  him  when  he  thought  of  losing  her  altogether. 

St.  George's  quick  step,  followed  by  his  firm  clutch 
of  the  inside  knob,  awoke  him  to  consciousness.  He 
sprang  forward  to  catch  his  first  word. 

"Can  I  go  in?"  he  stammered. 

St.  George  grabbed  him  by  the  shoulder,  wheeled 
him  around,  and  faced  him. 

"  Yes,  you  reprobate,  and  when  you  get  in  go  down 
on  your  knees  and  beg  her  pardon,  and  if  I  ever  catch 
you  causing  her  another  heartache  I'll  break  your 
damned  neck! — do  you  hear?" 

With  the  shutting  of  the  swinging  gate  the  wily  old 
diplomat  regained  his  normal  good-humored  poise,  his 
face  beaming,  his  whole  body  tingling  at  his  success. 
He  knew  what  was  going  on  behind  the  closed  cur 
tains,  and  just  how  contrite  and  humble  the  boy  would 
be,  and  how  Kate  would  scold  and  draw  herself  up — 
proud  duchess  that  she  was — and  how  Harry  would 
swear  by  the  nine  gods,  and  an  extra  one  if  need  be — 
and  then  there  would  come  a  long,  long  silence,  broken 
by  meaningless,  half-spoken  words — and  then  another 
silence — so  deep  and  absorbing  that  a  full  choir  of 
angels  might  have  started  an  anthem  above  their  heads 

43 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

and  neither  of  them  would  have  heard   a  word  or 
note. 

And  so  he  kept  on  his  way,  picking  his  steps  between 
the  moist  places  in  the  path  to  avoid  soiling  his  freshly 
varnished  boots;  tightening  the  lower  button  of  his 
snug-fitting  plum-colored  coat  as  a  bracing  to  his  waist 
line;  throwing  open  the  collar  of  his  overcoat  the  wider 
to  give  his  shoulders  the  more  room — very  happy — 
very  well  satisfied  with  himself,  with  the  world,  and 
with  everybody  who  lived  in  it. 


44 


CHAPTER   III 

Moorlands  was  ablaze! 

From  the  great  entrance  gate  flanked  by  moss- 
stained  brick  posts  capped  with  stone  balls,  along  the 
avenue  of  oaks  to  the  wide  portico  leading  to  the  great 
hall  and  spacious  rooms,  there  flared  one  continuous 
burst  of  light.  On  either  side  of  the  oak-bordered 
driveway,  between  the  tree-trunks,  crackled  torches 
of  pine  knots,  the  glow  of  their  curling  flames  bringing 
into  high  relief  the  black  faces  of  innumerable  field- 
hands  from  the  Rutter  and  neighboring  plantations, 
lined  up  on  either  side  of  the  gravel  road — teeth  and 
eyeballs  flashing  white  against  the  blackness  of  the 
night.  Under  the  porches  hung  festoons  of  lanterns 
of  every  conceivable  form  and  color,  while  inside  the 
wide  baronial  hall,  and  in  the  great  drawing-room 
with  the  apartments  beyond,  the  light  of  countless 
candles,  clustered  together  in  silver  candelabras,  shed 
a  soft  glow  over  the  groups  of  waiting  guests. 

To-night  Colonel  Talbot  Rutter  of  Moorlands,  direct 
•descendant  of  the  house  of  De  Ruyter,  with  an  an 
cestry  dating  back  to  the  Spanish  Invasion,  was  to  bid 
official  welcome  to  a  daughter  of  the  house  of  Seymour, 
equally  distinguished  by  flood  and  field  in  the  service 
of  its  king.  These  two — God  be  thanked — loved  each 

45 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

other,  and  now  that  the  young  heir  to  Moorlands  was 
to  bring  home  his  affianced  bride,  soon  to  become  his 
wedded  wife,  no  honor  could  be  too  great,  no  expense 
too  lavish,  no  welcome  too  joyful. 

Moreover,  that  this  young  princess  of  the  blood 
might  be  accorded  all  the  honors  due  her  birth,  lineage, 
and  rank,  the  colonel's  own  coach-and-four,  with  two 
postilions  and  old  Matthew  on  the  box — twenty  years 
in  the  service — his  whip  tied  with  forget-me-nots,  the 
horses'  ears  streaming  with  white  ribbons — each  flank 
as  smooth  as  satin  and  each  panel  bright  as  a  mirror — 
had  been  trundled  off  to  Kennedy  Square,  there  to 
receive  the  fairest  of  all  her  daughters,  together  with 
such  other  members  of  her  royal  suite — including  His 
Supreme  Excellency  the  Honorable  Prim — not  forget 
ting,  of  course,  Kate's  old  black  mammy,  Henny,  who 
was  as  much  a  part  of  the  fair  lady's  belongings  when 
she  went  afield  as  her  ostrich-plume  fan,  her  white 
gloves,  or  the  wee  slippers  that  covered  her  enchant 
ing  feet. 

Every  detail  of  harness,  wheel,  and  brake — even  the 
horn  itself — had  passed  under  the  colonel's  personal 
supervision;  Matthew  on  the  box  straight  as  a  hitch- 
ing-post  and  bursting  with  pride,  reins  gathered,  whip 
balanced,  the  leaders  steady  and  the  wheel  horses  in 
line.  Then  the  word  had  been  given,  and  away  they 
had  swept  round  the  circle  and  so  on  down  the  long 
driveway  to  the  outer  gate  and  Kennedy  Square.  Ten 
miles  an  hour  were  the  colonel's  orders  and  ten  miles  an 
hour  must  Matthew  make,  including  the  loading  and 

46 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

unloading  of  his  fair  passenger  and  her  companions, 
or  there  would  be  the  devil  to  pay  on  his  return. 

And  the  inside  of  the  house  offered  no  less  a  wel 
come.  Drawn  up  in  the  wide  hall,  under  the  direct 
command  of  old  Alec,  the  head  butler,  were  the  house 
servants; — mulatto  maids  in  caps,  snuff-colored  second 
butlers  in  livery,  jet-black  mammies  in  new  bandannas 
and  white  aprons — all  in  a  flutter  of  excitement,  and 
each  one  determined  to  get  the  first  glimpse  of  Marse 
Harry's  young  lady,  no  matter  at  what  risk. 

Alec  himself  was  a  joy  to  look  upon — eyeballs  and 
teeth  gleaming,  his  face  one  wide,  encircling  smile. 
Marse  Harry  was  the  apple  of  his  eye,  and  had  been 
ever  since  the  day  of  his  birth.  He  had  carried  him 
on  his  back  when  a  boy;  had  taught  him  to  fish  and 
hunt  and  to  ride  to  hounds;  had  nursed  him  when 
he  fell  ill  at  the  University  in  his  college  days,  and 
would  gladly  have  laid  down  his  life  for  him  had  any 
such  necessity  arisen.  To-night,  in  honor  of  the  oc 
casion,  he  was  rigged  out  in  a  new  bottle-green  coat 
with  shiny  brass  buttons,  white  waistcoat,  white  gloves 
three  sizes  too  big  for  him,  and  a  huge  white  cravat 
flaring  out  almost  to  the  tips  of  his  ears.  Nothing  was 
too  good  for  Alec — so  his  mistress  thought — and  for 
the  best  of  reasons.  Not  only  was  he  the  ideal  ser 
vant  of  the  old  school,  but  he  was  the  pivot  on  which 
the  whole  establishment  moved.  If  a  particular 
brand  or  vintage  was  needed,  or  a  key  was  missing, 
or  did  a  hair  trunk,  or  a  pair  of  spurs,  or  last  week's 
Miscellany,  go  astray — or  even  were  his  mistress's 

47 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

spectacles  mislaid — Alec  could  put  his  hand  upon 
each  and  every  item  in  so  short  a  space  of  time  that  the 
loser  was  convinced  the  old  man  had  hidden  them  on 
purpose,  to  enjoy  their  refinding.  Moorlands  with 
out  old  Alec  would  have  been  a  wheel  without  a  hub. 

As  a  distinct  feature  of  all  these  preparations — and 
this  was  the  best  part  of  the  programme — Harry  was 
to  meet  Kate  at  the  outer  gate  supported  by  half  a 
dozen  of  his  young  friends  and  hers — Dr.  Teackle, 
Mark  Gilbert,  Langdon  Willits,  and  one  or  two  others 
—while  Mrs.  Rutter,  Mrs.  Cheston,  Mrs.  Richard 
Horn,  and  a  bevy  of  younger  women  and  girls  were 
to  welcome  her  with  open  arms  the  moment  her  dainty 
feet  cleared  the  coach's  step.  This  was  the  way 
princesses  of  the  blood  had  been  welcomed  from  time 
immemorial  to  palaces  and  castles  high,  and  this  was 
the  way  their  beloved  Kate  was  to  make  entry  into 
the  home  of  her  lord. 

Soon  the  flash  of  the  coach  lamps  was  seen  outside 
the  far  gate.  Then  there  came  the  wind  of  a  horn — 
a  rollicking,  rolling,  gladsome  sound,  and  in  the  wink 
of  an  eyelid  every  one  was  out  on  the  portico  straining 
their  eyes,  listening  eagerly.  A  joyous  shout  now 
went  up  from  the  negroes  lining  the  fences;  from  the 
groups  about  the  steps  and  along  the  driveway. 

"Here  she  comes!" 

The  leaders  with  a  swing  pranced  into  view  as 
they  cleared  the  gate  posts.  There  came  a  moment's 
halt  at  the  end  of  the  driveway;  a  postilion  vaulted 
down,  threw  wide  the  coach  door  and  a  young  man 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

sprang  in.  It  was  Harry! . .  .  Snap!  !  Crack!  !  Toot — 
toot!  I — and  they  were  off  again,  heading  straight  for 
the  waiting  group.  Another  prolonged,  winding  note — 
louder— nearer— one  of  triumph  this  time!— a  galloping, 
circling  dash  toward  the  porch  crowded  with  guests — 
the  reining  in  of  panting  leaders — the  sudden  gather 
ing  up  of  the  wheel  horses,  back  on  their  haunches — 
the  coach  door  flung  wide  and  out  stepped  Kate — 
Harry's  hand  in  hers,  her  old  mammy  behind,  her 
father  last  of  all. 

"Oh,  such  a  lovely  drive!  and  it  was  so  kind  of 
you,  dear  colonel,  to  send  for  me!  Oh,  it  was  splen 
did!  And  Matthew  galloped  most  all  the  way."  She 
had  come  as  a  royal  princess,  but  she  was  still  our 
Kate.  "And  you  are  all  out  here  to  meet  me!"  Here 
she  kissed  Harry's  mother — "and  you  too,  Uncle 
George — and  Sue — Oh,  how  fine  you  all  look!" — and 
with  a  curtsy  and  a  joyous  laugh  and  a  hand-clasp 
here  and  there,  she  bent  her  head  and  stepped  into 
the  wide  hall  under  the  blaze  of  the  clustered  can 
dles. 

It  was  then  that  they  caught  their  breaths,  for  no 
such  vision  of  beauty  had  ever  before  stood  in  the 
wide  hall  of  Moorlands,  her  eyes  shining  like  two 
stars  above  the  rosy  hue  of  her  cheek;  her  skin  like 
a  shell,  her  throat  and  neck  a  lily  in  color  and  curves. 
And  her  poise;  her  gladsomeness;  her  joy  at  being 
alive  and  at  finding  everybody  else  alive;  the  way  she 
moved  and  laughed  and  bent  her  pretty  head;  the 
ripples  of  gay  laughter  and  the  low-pitched  tone  of 
the  warm  greetings  that  fell  from  her  lips! 

49 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

No  wonder  Harry  was  bursting  with  pride;  no 
wonder  Langdon  Willits  heaved  a  deep  sigh  when  he 
caught  the  glance  that  Kate  flashed  at  Harry  and  went 
out  on  the  porch  to  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air;  no  wonder 
St.  George's  heart  throbbed  as  he  watched  them  both 
and  thought  how  near  all  this  happiness  had  come  to 
being  wrecked;  no  wonder  the  servants  tumbled  over 
each  other  in  their  eagerness  to  get  a  view  of  her  face 
and  gown,  and  no  wonder,  too,  that  the  proud,  old 
colonel  who  ruled  his  house  with  a  rod  of  iron,  deter 
mined  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  to  lay  down  the 
sceptre  and  give  Kate  and  Harry  full  sway  to  do 
whatever  popped  into  their  two  silly  heads. 

And  our  young  Lochinvar  was  fully  her  match  in 
bearing,  dress,  and  manners, — every  inch  a  prince 
and  every  inch  a  Rutter, — and  with  such  grace  of  move 
ment  as  he  stepped  beside  her,  that  even  punctilious, 
outspoken  old  Mrs.  Cheston — who  had  forgiven  him 
his  escapade,  and  who  was  always  laughing  at  what  she 
called  the  pump-handle  shakes  of  some  of  the  under 
done  aristocrats  about  her,  had  to  whisper  to  the  near 
est  guest — "  Watch  Harry,  my  dear,  if  you  would  see 
how  a  thoroughbred  manages  his  legs  and  arms  when 
he  wishes  to  do  honor  to  a  woman.  Admirable! — 
charming!  No  young  man  of  my  time  ever  did  better." 
And  Mrs.  Cheston  knew,  for  she  had  hobnobbed  with 
kings  and  queens,  her  husband  having  represented  his 
government  at  the  Court  of  St.  James — which  fact, 
however,  never  prevented  her  from  calling  a  spade 
a  spade;  nor  was  she  ever  very  particular  as  to  what 
the  spade  unearthed. 

50 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Yes — a  very  gallant  and  handsome  young  man  was 
our  prince  as  he  handed  Kate  up  the  stairs  on  her  way 
to  the  dressing-room,  and  looked  it  in  his  pearl-gray 
coat  with  buttons  of  silver,  fluffy  white  silk  scarf, 
high  dog-eared  collar,  ivory-white  waistcoat,  and  tight- 
fitting  trousers  of  nankeen  yellow,  held  close  to  the 
pumps  with  invisible  straps.  And  a  very  gallant  and 
handsome  young  fellow  he  felt  himself  to  be  on  this 
night  of  his  triumph,  and  so  thought  Kate — in  fact 
she  had  fallen  in  love  with  him  over  again — and  so  too 
did  every  one  of  the  young  girls  who  crowded  about 
them,  as  well  as  the  dominating,  erect  aristocrat  of  a 
father,  and  the  anxious  gentle  mother,  who  worshipped 
the  ground  on  which  he  walked. 

Kate  had  noted  every  expression  that  crossed  his 
face,  absorbing  him  in  one  comprehensive  glance  as 
he  stood  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  candles,  her  gaze  lin 
gering  on  his  mouth  and  laughing  eyes  and  the  soft 
sheen  of  his  brown  hair,  its  curved-in  ends  brushing 
the  high  velvet  collar  of  his  coat — and  so  on  down  his 
shapely  body  to  his  shapely  feet.  Never  had  she  seen 
him  so  adorable — and  he  was  all  her  own,  and  for 
life! 

As  for  our  dear  St.  George  Temple,  who  had  never 
taken  his  eyes  off  them,  he  thought  they  were  the 
goodliest  pair  the  stars  ever  shone  upon,  and  this  his 
happiest  night.  There  would  be  no  more  stumbling 
after  this.  Kate  had  the  bridle  well  in  hand  now;  all 
she  needed  was  a  clear  road,  and  that  was  ahead  of 
both  horse  and  rider. 

51 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Makes  your  blood  jump  in  your  veins,  just  to 
look  at  them,  doesn't  it,  Talbot?"  cried  St.  George  to 
Harry's  father  when  Kate  disappeared — laying  his 
hand  as  he  spoke  on  the  shoulder  of  the  man  with 
whom  he  had  grown  up  from  a  boy.  "Is  there  any 
thing  so  good  as  the  love  of  a  good  woman? — the 
wise  old  prophet  places  her  beyond  the  price  of 
rubies." 

"Only  one  thing,  St.  George — the  love  of  a  good 
man — one  like  yourself,  you  dear  old  fellow.  And 
why  the  devil  you  haven't  found  that  out  years  ago  is 
more  than  I  can  understand.  Here  you  are  my  age, 
and  you  might  have  had  a  Kate  and  Harry  of  your 
own  by  this  time,  and  yet  you  live  a  stupid  old " 

"No,  I  won't  hear  you  talk  so,  colonel!"  cried  a 
bride  of  a  year.  "  Uncle  George  is  never  stupid,  and 
he  couldn't  be  old.  What  would  all  these  young  girls 
do — what  would  I  have  done"  (another  love  affair 
with  St.  George  as  healer  and  mender!) — "what  would 
anybody  have  done  without  him?  Come,  Miss  La- 
vinia — do  you  hear  the  colonel  abusing  Uncle  George 
because  he  isn't  married?  Speak  up  for  him — it's 
wicked  of  you,  colonel,  to  talk  so." 

Miss  Lavinia  Clendenning,  who  was  one  of  St. 
George's  very  own,  in  spite  of  her  forty-odd  years, 
threw  back  her  head  until  the  feathers  in  her  slightly 
gray  hair  shook  defiantly: 

"  No — I  won't  say  a  word  for  him,  Sue.  I've  given 
him  up  forever.  He's  a  disgrace  to  everybody  who 
knows  him." 

52 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Oh,  you  renegade!"  exclaimed  St.  George  in 
mock  alarm. 

"  Yes, — a  positive  disgrace !  He'll  never  marry  any 
body,  Sue,  until  he  marries  me.  I've  begged  him  on 
my  knees  until  I'm  tired,  to  name  the  day,  and  he 
won't!  Just  like  all  you  shiftless  Marylanders,  sir — 
never  know  when  to  make  up  your  minds." 

"  But  you  threw  me  over,  Lavinia,  and  broke  my 
heart,"  laughed  Temple  with  a  low  bow,  his  palms  flat 
tened  against  his  waistcoat  in  assumed  humility. 

"When?" 

"  Oh,  twenty  years  ago." 

"Oh,  my  goodness  gracious!  Of  course  I  threw 
you  over  then; — you  were  just  a  baby  in  arms  and  I 
was  old  enough  to  be  your  mother — but  now  it's  differ 
ent.  I'm  dying  to  get  married  and  nobody  wants  me. 
If  you  were  a  Virginian  instead  of  a  doubting  Mary- 
lander,  you  would  have  asked  me  a  hundred  times  and 
kept  on  asking  until  I  gave  in.  Now  it's  too  late.  I  al 
ways  intended  to  give  in,  but  you  were  so  stupid  you 
couldn't  or  wouldn't  understand." 

"It's  never  too  late  to  mend,  Lavinia,"  he  prayed 
with  hands  extended. 

"It's  too  late  to  mend  you,  St.  George!  You  are 
cracked  all  over,  and  as  for  me — I'm  ready  to  fall  to 
pieces  any  minute.  I'm  all  tied  up  now  with  corset 
laces  and  stays  and  goodness  knows  what  else.  No 
— I'm  done  with  you." 

While  this  merry  badinage  was  going  on/  the  young 
people  crowding  the  closer  so  as  not  to  lose  a  word, 

53 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

or  making  room  for  the  constant  stream  of  fresh  ar 
rivals  on  their  way  toward  the  dressing-rooms  above, 
their  eyes  now  and  then  searching  the  top  of  the 
stairs  in  the  hope  of  getting  the  first  glimpse  of  Kate, 
our  heroine  was  receiving  the  final  touches  from  her 
old  black  mammy.  It  took  many  minutes.  The  curl 
must  be  adjusted,  the  full  skirts  pulled  out  or  shaken 
loose,  the  rare  jewels  arranged  before  she  was  dismissed 
V7ith— "  Dah,  honey  chile,  now  go-long.  Ain't  nary  one 
on  'em  ain't  pizen  hongry  for  ye — an'  mos'  on  'em 
drown  derselves  'fo'  mawnin'  becos  dey  can't  git  ye." 
She  is  ready  now,  Harry  beside  her,  her  lace  scarf 
embroidered  with  pink  rosebuds  floating  from  her 
lovely  shoulders,  her  satin  skirt  held  firmly  in  both 
hands  that  she  might  step  the  freer,  her  dainty  silk 
stockings  with  the  ribbons  crossed  about  her  ankles 
showing  below  its  edge. 

But  it  was  the  colonel  who  took  possession  of  her 
when  she  reached  the  floor  of  the  great  hall,  and  not 
her  father  nor  her  lover. 

"No,  Harry— stand  aside,  sir.  Out  with  you!  Kate 
goes  in  with  me!  Seymour,  please  give  your  arm  to 
Mrs.  Rutter."  And  with  the  manner  of  a  courtier 
leading  a  princess  into  the  presence  of  her  sovereign, 
the  Lord  of  Moorlands  swept  our  Lady  of  Kennedy 
Square  into  the  brilliant  drawing-room  crowded  with 
guests. 

It  was  a-  great  ball  and  it  was  a  great  ballroom— 
in  spaciousness,  color,  and  appointments.  No  one 

54 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

had  ever  dreamed  of  its  possibilities  before,  although 
everybody  knew  it  was  the  largest  in  the  county.  The 
gentle  hostess,  with  old  Alec  as  head  of  the  pulling- 
out-and-moving-off  department,  had  wrought  the 
change.  All  the  chairs,  tables,  sofas,  and  screens, 
little  and  big,  had  either  been  spirited  away  or  pushed 
back  against  the  wall  for  tired  dancers.  Over  the 
wide  floor  was  stretched  a  linen  crash;  from  the  ceil 
ing  and  bracketed  against  the  white  walls,  relieved  here 
and  there  by  long  silken  curtains  of  gold-yellow,  blazed 
clusters  of  candles,  looking  for  all  the  world  like  so 
many  bursting  sky-rockets,  while  at  one  end,  behind  a 
mass  of  flowering  plants,  sat  a  quartette  of  musicians, 
led  by  an  old  darky  with  a  cotton-batting  head,  who 
had  come  all  the  way  from  Philadelphia  a-purpose. 

Nor  had  the  inner  man  been  forgotten:  bowls  of 
hot  apple  toddy  steamed  away  in  the  dining-room; 
bowls  of  eggnog  frothed  away  in  the  library;  ladlings 
of  punch,  and  the  contents  of  several  old  cut-glass  de 
canters,  flanked  by  companies  of  pipe-stem  glasses, 
were  being  served  in  the  dressing-rooms;  while  relays 
of  hot  terrapin,  canvas-back  duck,  sizzling  hot;  olio, 
cold  joints;  together  with  every  conceivable  treatment 
and  condition  of  oysters — in  scallop  shells,  on  silver 
platters  and  in  wooden  plates — raw,  roasted,  fried, 
broiled,  baked,  and  stewed — everything  in  fact  that 
could  carry  out  the  colonel's  watchword,  "  Eat,  drink, 
and  be  merry,"  were  within  the  beck  and  call  of  each 
and  every  guest. 

And  there  were  to  be  no  interludes  of  hunger  and 
55 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

thirst  if  the  host  could  help  it.  No  dull  pauses  nor 
recesses,  but  one  continued  round,  lasting  until  mid 
night,  at  which  hour  the  final  banquet  in  the  dining- 
room  was  to  be  served,  and  the  great  surprise  of  the 
evening  reached — the  formal  announcement  of  Harry 
and  Kate's  engagement,  followed  by  the  opening  of 
the  celebrated  bottle  of  the  Jefferson  1800  Monticello 
Madeira,  recorked  at  our  young  hero's  birth. 

And  it  goes  without  saying  that  there  were  no  inter 
ludes.  The  fun  began  at  once,  a  long  line  of  merry 
talk  and  laughter  following  the  wake  of  the  procession, 
led  by  the  host  and  Kate,  the  colonel  signalling  at  last 
to  the  cotton-batting  with  the  goggle  spectacles,  who 
at  once  struck  up  a  polka  and  away  they  all  went, 
Harry  and  Kate  in  the  lead,  the  whole  room  in  a  whirl. 

This  over  and  the  dancers  out  of  breath,  Goggles 
announced  a  quadrille — the  colonel  and  St.  George 
helping  to  form  the  sets.  Then  followed  the  schot- 
tische,  then  another  polka  until  everybody  was  tired 
out,  and  then  with  one  accord  the  young  couples 
rushed  from  the  hot  room,  hazy  with  the  dust  of  lint 
from  the  linen  crash,  and  stampeded  for  the  cool  wide 
stairs  that  led  from  the  great  hall.  For  while  in  summer 
the  shadows  on  some  vine-covered  porch  swallowed 
the  lovers,  in  winter  the  stairs  were  generally  the  tryst- 
ing-place — and  the  top  step  the  one  most  sought — 
because  there  was  nobody  behind  to  see.  This  was 
the  roost  for  which  Kate  and  Harry  scampered,  and 
there  they  intended  to  -sit  until  the  music  struck  up 
again. 

56 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Oh,  Kate,  you  precious  darling,  how  lovely  you 
look!"  burst  out  Harry  for  the  hundredth  time  when 
she  had  nestled  down  beside  him — "  and  what  a  won 
derful  gown!  I  never  saw  that  one  before,  did  I?" 

"No — you  never  have,"  she  panted,  her  breath 
gone  from  her  dance  and  the  dash  for  the  staircase. 
"  It's  my  dear  mother's  dress,  and  her  scarf  too.  I  had 
very  little  done  to  it — only  the  skirt  made  wider. 
Isn't  it  soft  and  rich?  Grandpa  used  to  bring  these 
satins  from  China." 

"And  the  pearls — are  they  the  ones  you  told  me 
about?"  He  was  adjusting  them  to  her  throat  as  he 
spoke — somehow  he  could  not  keep  his  hands  from 
her. 

"Yes — mother's  jewels.  Father  got  them  out  of 
his  strong-box  for  me  this  morning.  He  wanted  me 
to  wear  them  to-night.  He  says  I  can  have  them  all 
now.  She  must  have  been  very  beautiful,  Harry — and* 
just  think,  dear — she  was  only  a  few  years  older  than 
I  am  when  she  died.  Sometimes  when  I  wear  her 
things  and  get  to  thinking  about  her,  and  remember 
how  young  and  beautiful  she  was  and  how  unhappy 
her  life,  it  seems  as  if  I  must  be  unhappy  myself — 
somehow  as  if  it  were  not  right  to  have  all  this  hap 
piness  when  she  had  none."  There  was  a  note  of  in 
finite  pathos  in  her  voice — a  note  one  always  heard 
when  she  spoke  of  her  mother.  Had  Harry  looked 
deeper  into  her  eyes  he  might  have  found  the  edges 
of  two  tears  trembling  on  their  lids. 

"She  never  was  as  beautiful  as  you,  my  darling — 
57 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

nobody  ever  was — nobody  ever  could  be!"  he  cried, 
ignoring  all  allusion  to  her  mother.  Nothing  else 
counted  with  the  young  fellow  to-night — all  he  knew 
and  cared  for  was  that  Kate  was  his  very  own,  and 
that  all  the  world  would  soon  know  it. 

"That's  because  you  love  me,  Harry.  You  have 
only  to  look  at  her  portrait  in  father's  room  to  see  how 
exquisite  she  was.  I  can  never  be  like  her — never  so 
gracious,  so  patient,  no  matter  how  hard  I  try." 

He  put  his  fingers  on  her  lips:  "I  won't  have  you 
say  it.  I  won't  let  anybody  say  it.  I  could  hardly 
speak  when  I  saw  you  in  the  full  light  of  the  hall. 
It  was  so  dark  in  the  coach  I  didn't  know  how  you 
looked,  and  I  didn't  care;  I  was  so  glad  to  get  hold 
of  you.  But  when  your  cloak  slipped  from  your 
shoulders  and  you — Oh! — you  darling  Kate!"  His 
eye  caught  the  round  of  her  throat  and  the  taper  of  her 
lovely  arm — "I  am  going  to  kiss  you  right  here — I 
will — I  don't  care  who " 

She  threw  up  her  hands  with  a  little  laugh.  She 
liked  him  the  better  for  daring,  although  she  was 
afraid  to  yield. 

"No — no — Harry!  They  will  see  us — don't — you 
mustn't!" 

"Mustn't  what!  I  tell  you,  Kate,  I  am  going  to 
kiss  you — I  don't  care  what  you  say  or  who  sees  me. 
It's  been  a  year  since  I  kissed  you  in  the  coach — forty 
years — now,  you  precious  Kate,  what  difference  does 
it  make?  I  will,  I  tell  you — no — don't  turn  your 
head  away." 

58 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

She  was  struggling  feebly,  her  elbow  across  her  face 
as  a  shield,  meaning  all  the  time  to  raise  her  lips  to 
his,  when  her  eyes  fell  on  the  figure  of  a  young  man 
making  his  way  toward  them.  Instantly  her  back 
straightened. 

"There's  Langdon  Willits  at  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs  talking  to  Mark  Gilbert,"  she  whispered  in 
dismay.  "See — he  is  coming  up.  I  wonder  what 
he  wants." 

Harry  gathered  himself  together  and  his  face  clouded. 
"I  wish  he  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  I  don't 
like  Willits — I  never  did.  Neither  does  Uncle  George. 
Besides,  he's  in  love  with  you,  and  he  always  has  been." 

"What  nonsense,  Harry,"  she  answered,  opening 
her  fan  and  waving  it  slowly.  She  knew  her  lover 
was  right — knew  more  indeed  than  her  lover  could  ever 
know :  she  had  used  all  the  arts  of  which  she  was  mis 
tress  to  keep  Willits  from  proposing. 

"  But  he  is  in  love  with  you,"  Harry  insisted  stiffly. 
"Won't  he  be  fighting  mad,  though,  when  he  hears 
father  announce  our  engagement  at  supper?"  Then 
some  tone  in  her  voice  recalled  that  night  on  the  sofa 
when  she  still  held  out  against  his  pleading,  and  with 
it  came  the  thought  that  while  she  could  be  persuaded 
she  could  never  be  driven.  Instantly  his  voice  changed 
to  its  most  coaxing  tones:  "You  won't  dance  with 
him,  will  you,  Kate  darling?  I  can't  bear  to  see  you 
in  anybody  else's  arms  but  my  own." 

Her  hand  grasped  his  wrist  with  a  certain  meaning 
in  the  pressure. 

59 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  Now  don't  be  a  goose,  Harry.  I  must  be  polite  to 
everybody,  especially  to-night — and  you  wouldn't  have 
me  otherwise." 

"Yes,  but  not  to  him." 

"But  what  difference  does  it  make?  You  are  too 
sensible  not  to  understand,  and  I  am  too  happy,  any 
way,  to  want  to  be  rude  to  anybody.  And  then  you 
should  never  be  jealous  of  Langdon  Willits." 

"Well,  then,  not  a  round  dance,  please,  Kate." 
He  dare  not  oppose  her  further.  "I  couldn't  stand 
a  round  dance.  I  won't  have  his  arm  touch  you, 
my  darling."  And  he  bent  his  cheek  close  to  hers. 

She  looked  at  him  from  under  her  shadowed  lids 
as  she  had  looked  at  St.  George  when  she  greeted  him 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs ;  a  gleam  of  coquetry,  of  allure 
ment,  of  joy  shining  through  her  glances  like  delicate 
antennae  searching  to  feel  where  her  power  lay. 
Should  she  venture,  as  her  Uncle  George  had  sug 
gested,  to  take  the  reins  in  her  own  hands  and  guide 
this  restive,  mettlesome  thoroughbred,  or  should  she 
surrender  to  him?  Then  a  certain  mischievous  co 
quetry  possessed  her.  With  a  light,  bubbling  laugh 
she  drew  her  cheek  away. 

"Yes,  any  kind  of  a  dance  that  he  or  anybody  else 
wants  that  I  can  give  him,"  she  burst  out  with  a 
coquettish  twist  of  her  head,  her  eyes  brimming  with 
fun. 

"  But  I'm  on  your  card  for  every  single  dance,"  he 
demanded,  his  eyes  again  flashing.  "Look  at  it — I 
filled  it  up  myself,"  and  he  held  up  his  own  bit  of  paste- 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

board  so  she  could  read  the  list.  "  I  tell  you  I  won't 
have  his  arm  around  you!" 

"  Well,  then,  he  sha'n't  touch  even  the  tips  of  my 
fingers,  you  dreadful  Mr.  Bluebeard."  She  had  sur 
rendered  now.  He  was  never  so  compelling  as  when 
determined  to  have  his  own  way.  Again  her  whole 
manner  changed;  she  was  once  more  the  sweetheart: 
"Don't  let  us  bother  about  cards,  my  darling,  or 
dances,  or  anything.  Let  us  talk  of  how  lovely  it  is 
to  be  together  again.  Don't  you  think  so,  Harry?" 
and  she  snuggled  the  closer  to  his  arm,  her  soft  cheek 
against  his  coat. 

Before  Harry  could  answer,  young  Willits,  who  had 
been  edging  his  way  up  the  stairs  two  steps  at  a  time, 
avoiding  the  skirts  of  the  girls,  reaching  over  the  knees 
of  the  men  as  he  clung  to  the  hand-rail,  stood  on  the 
step  below  them. 

"  It's  my  next  dance,  Miss  Kate,  isn't  it  ?"  he  asked 
eagerly,  scanning  her  face — wondering  why  she  looked 
so  happy. 

"  What  is  it  to  be,  Mr.  Willits  ?  "  she  rejoined  in  per 
functory  tones,  glancing  at  her  own  blank  card  hang 
ing  to  her  wrist:  he  was  the  last  man  in  the  world  she 
wanted  to  see  at  this  moment. 

"The  schottische,  I  think — yes,  the  schottische," 
he  replied  nervously,  noticing  her  lack  of  warmth  and 
not  understanding  the  cause. 

"Oh,  I'm  all  out  of  breath — if  you  don't  mind," 
she  continued  evasively;  "we'll  wait  for  the  next  one." 
She  dared  not  invite  him  to  sit  down,  knowing  it  would 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

make  Harry  furious — and  then  again  she  couldn't 
stand  one  discordant  note  to-night — she  was  too  bliss 
fully  happy. 

"But  the  next  one  is  mine,"  exclaimed  Harry  sud 
denly,  examining  his  own  dancing-card.  He  had  not 
shifted  his  position  a  hair's  breadth,  nor  did  he  intend 
to; — although  he  had  been  outwardly  polite  to  the 
intruder. 

"Yes — they'd  all  be  yours,  Harry,  if  you  had  your 
way,"  this  in  a  thin,  dry  tone — "  but  you  mustn't  for 
get  that  Miss  Kate's  free,  white,  and  twenty-one,  and 
can  do  as  she  pleases." 

Harry's  lips  straightened.  He  did  not  like  Willits's 
manner  and  he  was  somewhat  shocked  at  his  expres 
sion;  it  seemed  to  smack  more  of  the  cabin  than  of 
the  boudoir — especially  the  boudoir  of  a  princess  like 
his  precious  Kate.  He  noticed,  too,  that  the  young 
man's  face  was  flushed  and  his  utterance  unusually 
rapid,  and  he  knew  what  had  caused  it. 

"  They  will  be  just  what  Miss  Seymour  wants  them 
to  be,  Willits."  The  words  came  in  hard,  gritting 
tones  through  half-closed  lips,  and  the  tightening  of 
his  throat  muscles.  This  phase  of  the  Rutter  blood 
was  dangerous. 

Kate  was  startled.  Harry  must  not  lose  his  self- 
control.  There  must  be  no  misunderstandings  on  this 
the  happiest  night  of  her  life. 

"Yes,"  she  said  sweetly,  with  a  gracious  bend  of 
her  head — "  but  I  do  want  to  dance  with  Mr.  Willits, 
only  I  don't  know  which  one  to  give  him." 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Then  give  me  the  Virginia  reel,  Miss  Kate,  the 
one  that  comes  just  before  supper,  and  we  can  go  all 
in  together — you  too,  Harry,"  Willits  insisted  eagerly. 
"See,  Miss  Kate — your  card  is  still  empty,"  and  he 
turned  toward  her  the  face  of  the  one  hanging  to  her 
wrist. 

"No,  never  the  reel,  Kate,  that  is  mine!"  burst 
out  Harry  determinedly,  as  a  final  dismissal  to  Willits. 
He  lowered  his  voice,  and  in  a  beseeching  tone  said — 
"Father's  set  his  heart  on  our  dancing  the  reel  to 
gether — please  don't  give  him  the  reel!" 

Kate,  intent  on  restoring  harmony,  arched  her  neck 
coyly,  and  said  in  her  most  bewitching  tones — the 
notes  of  a  robin  after  a  shower:  "Well,  I  can't  tell 
yet,  Mr.  Willits,  but  you  shall  have  one  or  the  other; 
just  leave  it  to  me — either  the  reel  or  the  schottische. 
We  will  talk  it  over  when  I  come  down." 

"Then  it's  the  reel,  Miss  Kate,  is  it  not?"  he  cried, 
ignoring  Harry  completely,  backing  away  as  he  re 
traced  his  steps,  a  look  of  triumph  on  his  face. 

She  shook  her  head  at  him,  but  she  did  not  answer. 
She  wanted  to  get  rid  of  him  as  quickly  as  possible. 
Willits  had  spoiled  everything.  She  was  so  happy 
before  he  came,  and  Harry  was  so  adorable.  She 
wished  now  she  had  not  drawn  away  her  cheek  when 
he  tried  to  kiss  her. 

"Don't  be  angry,  Harry,  dear,"  she  pleaded  coax- 
ingly,  determined  to  get  her  lover  back  once  more. 
"He  didn't  mean  anything — he  only  wanted  to  be 
polite." 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  He  didn't  want  to  be  polite,"  the  angry  lover  re 
torted.  "  He  meant  to  force  himself  in  between  us ;  that 
is  what  he  meant,  and  he's  always  at  it,  every  chance 
he  gets.  He  tried  it  at  Mrs.  Cheston's  the  other  night 
until  I  put  a  stop  to  it,  but  there's  one  thing  certain — 
he'll  stop  it  when  our  engagement  is  announced  after 
supper  or  I'll  know  the  reason  why." 

Kate  caught  her  breath.  A  new  disturbing  thought 
entered  her  mind.  It  was  at  Mrs.  Cheston's  that  both 
Willits  and  Harry  had  misbehaved  themselves,  and  it 
was  Harry's  part  in  the  sequel  which  she  had  forgiven. 
The  least  said  about  that  night  the  better. 

"  But  he  is  your  guest,  Harry,"  she  urged  at  last, 
still  determined  to  divert  his  thoughts  from  Willits  and 
the  loss  of  the  dance—"  our  guest,"  she  went  on—"  so 
is  everybody  else  here  to-night,  and  we  must  do  what 
everybody  wants  us  to,  not  be  selfish  about  it.  Now, 
my  darling — you  couldn't  be  impolite  to  anybody— 
don't  you  know  you  couldn't  ?  Mrs.  Cheston  calls  you 
'  My  Lord  Chesterfield '—I  heard  her  say  so  to-night." 

"Yes,  I  know,  Kate"— he  softened— " that's  what 
father  said  about  my  being  polite  to  him — but  all  the 
same  I  didn't  want  Willits  invited,  and  it's  only  be 
cause  father  insisted  that  he's  here.  Of  course,  I'm 
going  to  be  just  as  polite  to  him  as  I  can,  but  even 
father  would  feel  differently  about  him  if  he  had 
heard  what  he  said  to  you  a  minute  ago." 

"What  did  he  say?"  She  knew,  but  she  loved  to 
hear  him  defend  her.  This,  too,  was  a  way  out— in 
a  minute  he  would  be  her  old  Harry  again. 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"I  won't  even  repeat  it,"  he  answered  doggedly. 

"You  mean  about  my  being  twenty-one?  That 
was  rather  ungallant,  wasn't  it?" 

Again  that  long  look  from  under  her  eyelids — he 
would  have  succumbed  at  once  could  he  have  seen  it. 

"No,  the  other  part  of  it.  That's  not  the  way  to 
speak  to  a  lady.  That's  what  I  dislike  him  for.  He 
never  was  born  a  gentleman.  He  isn't  a  gentleman 
and  never  can  be  a  gentleman." 

Kate  drew  herself  up — the  unreasonableness  of  the 
objection  jarred  upon  her.  He  had  touched  one  of 
her  tender  spots — pride  of  birth  was  something  she 
detested. 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,  Harry,"  she  replied  in  a 
slightly  impatient  voice.  Moods  changed  with  our 
Kate  as  unexpectedly  as  April  showers.  "What 
difference  should  it  make  to  you  or  anybody  else 
whether  Langdon  Willits's  grandmother  was  a  count 
ess  or  a  country  girl,  so  she  was  honest  and  a  lady  ? " 
Her  head  went  up  with  a  toss  as  she  spoke,  for  this 
was  one  of  Kate's  pet  theories. 

"But  he's  not  of  my  class,  Kate,  and  he  shouldn't 
be  here.  I  told  father  so." 

"Then  make  him  one,"  she  answered  stoutly,  "if 
only  for  to-night,  by  being  extra  polite  and  courteous 
to  him  and  never  letting  him  feel  that  he  is  outside  of 
what  you  call  'your  class.'  I  like  Mr.  Willits,  and 
have  always  liked  him.  He  is  invariably  polite  to  me, 
and  he  can  be  very  kind  and  sympathetic  at  times. 
Listen!  they  are  calling  us,  and  there  goes  the  music 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

—come  along,  darling— it's  a  schottische  and  we'll 
dance  it  together." 

Harry  sprang  up,  slipped  his  arm  around  Kate  s 
waist,  lifted  her  to  her  feet,  held  her  close,  and  kissed 
her  squarely  on  the  mouth. 

"  There,  you  darling!  and  another  one — two — three! 
Oh,  you  precious!  What  do  I  care  about  Willits  or 
any  other  red-headed  lower  county  man  that  ever 
lived?  He  can  have  fifty  grandmothers  if  he  pleases 
and  I  won't  say  a  word— kiss  me— kiss  me  again. 
Quick  now  or  we'll  lose  the  dance,"  and,  utterly 
oblivious  as  to  whether  any  one  had  seen  them  or  not, 
the  two  raced  down  the  wide  stairs. 


CHAPTER  IV 

While  all  this  gayety  was  going  on  in  the  ballroom 
another  and  equally  joyous  gathering  was  besieging 
the  serving  tables  in  the  colonel's  private  den — a  room 
leading  out  of  the  larger  supper  room,  where  he  kept 
his  guns  and  shooting  togs,  and  which  had  been 
pressed  into  service  for  this  one  night. 

These  thirsty  gentlemen  were  of  all  ages  and  tastes, 
from  the  young  men  just  entering  society  to  the  few 
wrinkled  bald-pates  whose  legs  had  given  out  and 
who,  therefore,  preferred  the  coloners  Madeira  and 
terrapin  to  the  lighter  pleasures  of  the  dance. 

In  and  out  of  the  groups,  his  ruddy,  handsome  face 
radiant  with  the  joy  that  welled  up  in  his  heart,  moved 
St.  George  Temple.  Never  had  he  been  in  finer  form 
or  feather — never  had  he  looked  so  well — (not  all 
the  clothes  that  Poole  of  London  cut  came  to  Moor 
lands).  Something  of  the  same  glow  filtered  through 
him  that  he  had  felt  on  the  night  when  the  two  lovers 
had  settled  their  difficulties  and  he  had  swung  back 
through  the  park  at  peace  with  all  the  world. 

All  this  could  be  seen  in  the  way  he  threw  back  his 
head,  smiling  right  and  left;  the  way  he  moved  his 
hands — using  them  as  some  men  do  words  or  their 
eyebrows — now  uplifting  them  in  surprise  at  the  first 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

glimpse  of  some  unexpected  face,  his  long  delicate 
fingers   outspread   in   exclamations  of  delight;    now 
closing   them   tight  when   he  had   those   of  the  new 
arrival  in  his  grasp— now  curving  them,  palms  up, 
as  he  lifted  to  his  lips  the  fingers  of  a  grande  dame. 
"Keep  your  eyes  on  St.   George,"  whispered  Mrs. 
Cheston,  who  never  missed  a  point  in  friend  or  foe 
and  whose  fun  at  a  festivity  often  lay  in  commenting 
on  her  neighbors,  praise  or  blame  being  impartially 
mixed  as  her  fancy  was  touched.     "  And  by  all  means 
watch  his  hands,  my  dear.     They  are  like  the  baton  of 
an  orchestra  leader  and  tell  the  whole  story.     Only 
men  whose  blood  and  lineage  have  earned  them  free 
dom  from  toil,  or  men  whose  brains  throb  clear  to 
their  finger-tips,  have  such  hands.     Yes!     St.  George 
is  very  happy  to-night,  and  I  know  why.     He  has 
something   on  his   mind   that  he   means   to   tell   us 

later  on." 

Mrs.  Cheston  was  right:  she  generally  was— St. 
George  did  have  something  on  his  mind— something 
very  particular  on  his  mind— a  little  speech  really 
which  was  a  dead  secret  to  everybody  except  prying 
Mrs.  Cheston— one  which  was  to  precede  the  uncorking 
of  that  wonderful  old  Madeira,  and  the  final  announce 
ment  of  the  engagement— a  little  speech  in  which  he 
meant  to  refer  to  their  two  dear  mothers  when  they 
were  girls,  recalling  traits  and  episodes  forgotten  by 
most,  but  which  from  their  very  loveliness  had  always 
lingered  in  his  heart  and  memory. 

Before  this  important  event  took  place,  however, 
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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

there  were  some  matters  which  he  intended  to  look 
after  himself,  one  of  them  being  the  bowl  of  punch 
and  its  contiguous  beverages  in  the  colonel's  den. 
This  seemed  to  be  the  storm  centre  to-night,  and  here 
he  determined,  even  at  the  risk  of  offending  his  host,  to 
set  up  danger-signals  at  the  first  puff  of  wind.  The 
old  fellows,  if  they  chose,  might  empty  innumerable 
ladles  full  of  apple  toddy  or  compounds  of  Santa  Cruz 
rum  and  pineapples  into  their  own  persons,  but  not 
the  younger  bloods!  His  beloved  Kate  had  suffered 
enough  because  of  these  roysterers.  There  should  be 
one  ball  around  Kennedy  Square  in  which  everybody 
would  behave  themselves,  and  he  did  not  intend  to 
mince  his  words  when  the  time  came.  He  had  dis 
cussed  the  matter  with  the  colonel  when  the  ball 
opened,  but  little  encouragement  came  from  that 
quarter. 

"So  far  as  these  young  sprigs  are  concerned,  St. 
George/'  Rutter  had  flashed  back,  "they  must  look 
out  for  themselves.  I  can't  curtail  my  hospitality  to 
suit  their  babyships.  As  for  Harry,  you're  only  wast 
ing  your  time.  He  is  made  of  different  stuff — it's 
not  in  his  blood  and  couldn't  be.  Whatever  else  he 
may  become  he  will  never  be  a  sot.  Let  him  have  his 
fling:  once  a  Rutter,  always  a  Rutter,"  and  then, 
with  a  ring  in  his  voice,  "  when  my  son  ceases  to  be  a 
gentleman,  St.  George,  I  will  show  him  the  door,  but 
drink  will  never  do  it." 

Dr.  Teackle  had  also  been  on  the  alert.  He  was  a 
young  physician  just  coming  into  practice,  many  of 

69 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

the  younger  set  being  his  patients,  and  he  often  acted 
as  a  curb  when  they  broke  loose.  He,  with  St.  George's 
Whispered  caution  in  his  ears,  had  also  tried  to  frame 
a  word  of  protest  to  the  colonel,  suggesting  in  the  mild 
est  way  that  that  particular  bowl  of  apple  toddy  be 
not  replenished — but  the  Lord  of  the  Manor  had 
silenced  him  with  a  withering  glance  before  he  had 
completed  his  sentence.  In  this  dilemma  he  had 
again  sought  out  St.  George. 

"  Look  out  for  Willits,  Uncle  George.  He'll  be  stag 
gering  in  among  the  ladies  if  he  gets  another  crack 
at  that  toddy.  It's  an  infernal  shame  to  bring  these 
relays  of  punch  in  here.  I  tried  to  warn  the  colonel, 
but  he  came  near  eating  me  up.  Willits  has  had  very 
little  experience  in  this  sort  of  thing  and  is  mixing  his 
eggnog  with  everything  within  his  reach.  That  will 
split  his  head  wide  open  in  the  morning." 

"  Go  and  find  him,  Teackle,  and  bring  him  to  me," 
cried  St.  George;  "I'll  stay  here  until  you  get  him. 
Tell  him  I  want  to  see  him — and  Alec" — this  to  the 
old  butler  who  was  skimming  past,  his  hands  laden 
with  dishes —  "don't  you  bring  another  drop  of  punch 
into  this  room  until  you  see  me." 

"  But  de  colonel  say  dat " 

" — I  don't  care  what  the  colonel  says;  if  he  wants 
to  know  why,  tell  him  I  ordered  it.  I'm  not  going  to 
have  this  night  spoiled  by  any  tomfoolery  of  Talbot's, 
I  don't  care  what  he  says.  You  hear  me,  Alec  ?  Not 
a  drop.  Take  out  those  half-empty  bowls  and  don't 
you  serve  another  thimbleful  of  anything  until  I  say 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

so."  Here  he  turned  to  the  young  doctor,  who  seemed 
rather  surprised  at  St.  George's  dictatorial  air — one 
rarely  seen  in  him.  "  Yes — brutal,  I  know,  Teackle, 
and  perhaps  a  little  ill-mannered,  this  interfering  with 
another  man's  hospitality,  but  if  you  knew  how  Kate 
has  suffered  over  this  same  stupidity  you  would  say  I 
was  right.  Talbot  never  thinks — never  cares.  Be 
cause  he's  got  a  head  as  steady  as  a  town  clock  and 
can  put  away  a  bottle  of  port  without  winking  an  eye 
lid,  he  believes  anybody  else  can  do  the  same.  I 
tell  you  this  sort  of  thing  has  got  to  stop  or  sooner  or 
later  these  young  bloods  will  break  the  hearts  of  half 
the  girls  in  town.  .  .  .  Careful  I  here  comes  Willits — 
not  another  word.  .  .  .  Oh,  Mr.  Willits,  here  you  are! 
I  was  just  going  to  send  for  you.  I  want  to  talk  to 
you  about  that  mare  of  yours — is  she  still  for  sale?" 
His  nonchalance  was  delightful. 

"No,  Mr.  Temple;  I  had  thought  of  keeping  her, 
sir,"  the  young  man  rejoined  blandly,  greatly  flattered 
at  having  been  specially  singled  out  by  the  distin 
guished  Mr.  Temple.  "But  if  you  are  thinking  of 
buying  my  mare,  I  should  be  most  delighted  to  con 
sider  it.  If  you  will  permit  me — I  will  call  upon  you 
in  the  morning."  This  last  came  with  elaborate  effu 
siveness.  "But  you  haven't  a  drop  of  anything  to 
drink,  Mr.  Temple,  nor  you  either,  doctor!  Egad! 
What  am  I  thinking  of!  Come,  won't  you  join  me? 
The  colonel's  mixtures  are " 

"  Better  wait,  Mr.  Willits,"  interrupted  St.  George 
calmly  and  with  the  air  of  one  conversant  with  the 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

resources  of  the  house.  "Alec  has  just  taken  out  a 
half-emptied  bowl  of  toddy."  He  had  seen  at  a 
glance  that  Teackle's  diagnosis  of  the  young  man's 
condition  was  correct. 

"Then  let  us  have  a  swig  at  the  colonel's  port — 
it's  the  best  in  the  county." 

"No,  hold  on  till  the  punch  comes.  You  young 
fellows  don't  know  how  to  take  care  of  your  stomachs. 
You  ought  to  stick  to  your  tipple  as  you  do  to  your 
sweetheart — you  should  only  have  one." 

"  —At  a  time,"  laughed  Teackle. 

"No,  one  all  the  time,  you  dog!  When  I  was  your 
age,  Mr.  Willits,  if  I  drank  Madeira  I  continued  to 
drink  Madeira,  not  to  mix  it  up  with  everything  on 
the  table." 

"By  Jove,  you're  right,  Mr.  Temple!  I'm  sticking 
to  one  girl — Miss  Kate's  my  girl  to-night.  I'm  going 
to  dance  the  Virginia  reel  with  her." 

St.  George  eyed  him  steadily.  He  saw  that  the 
liquor  had  already  reached  his  head  or  he  would  not 
have  spoken  of  Kate  as  he  did.  "  Your  choice  is  most 
admirable,  Mr.  Willits,"  he  said  suavely,  "but  let 
Harry  have  Miss  Kate  to-night,"  adding,  as  he  laid 
his  hand  confidingly  on  the  young  man's  shoulder — 
"they  were  made  to  step  that  dance  together." 

"But  she  said  she  would  dance  it  with  me!"  he 
flung  back — he  did  not  mean  to  be  defrauded. 

"  Really  ?  "  It  was  wonderful  how  soft  St.  George's 
voice  could  be.  Teackle  could  not  have  handled  a 
refractory  patient  the  better. 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Well,  that  is,"  rejoined  Willits,  modified  by  Tem 
ple's  tone — "  she  is  to  let  me  know — that  was  the  bar- 
gain." 

Still  another  soft  cadence  crept  into  St.  George's 
voice :  "  Well,  even  if  she  did  say  she  would  let  you 
know,  do  be  a  little  generous.  Miss  Seymour  is  al 
ways  so  obliging;  but  she  ought  really  to  dance  the 
reel  with  Harry  to-night."  He  used  Kate's  full  name, 
but  Willits's  head  was  buzzing  too  loudly  for  him  to 
notice  the  delicately  suggested  rebuke. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  that,  and  I'm  not  going  to  see  it, 
either.  Harry's  always  coming  in  between  us;  he  tried 
to  get  Miss  Kate  away  from  me  a  little  while  ago,  but 
he  didn't  succeed." 

"Noblesse  oblige,  my  dear  Mr.  Willits,"  rejoined 
St.  George  in  a  more  positive  tone.  "  He  is  host,  you 
know,  and  the  ball  is  given  to  Miss  Seymour,  and 
Harry  can  do  nothing  else  but  be  attentive."  He  felt 
like  strangling  the  cub,  but  it  was  neither  the  time 
nor  place — nothing  should  disturb  Kate's  triumph  if 
he  could  help  it.  One  way  was  to  keep  Willits  sober, 
and  this  he  intended  to  do  whether  the  young  man 
liked  it  or  not — if  he  talked  to  him  all  night. 

"  But  it  is  my  dance,"  Willits  broke  out.  "  You  ask 
him  if  it  isn't  my  dance — he  heard  what  Miss  Kate 
said.  Here  comes  Harry  now." 

Like  a  breath  of  west  wind  our  young  prince  blew 
in,  his  face  radiant,  his  eyes  sparkling.  He  had 
entirely  forgotten  the  incident  on  the  stairs  in  the 
rapture  of  Kate's  kisses,  and  Willits  was  once  more 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

one  of  the  many  guests  he  was  ready  to  serve  and  be 
courteous  to. 

"Ah,  gentlemen — I  hope  you  have  everything  you 
want!"  he  cried  with  a  joyous  wave  of  his  hand. 
"Where  will  I  get  an  ice  for  Kate,  Uncle  George? 
We  are  just  about  beginning  the  Virginia  reel  and  she 
is  so  warm.  Oh,  we  have  had  such  a  lovely  waltz! 
Why  are  you  fellows  not  dancing?  Send  them  in, 
Uncle  George."  He  was  brimming  over  with  happi 
ness. 

Willits  moved  closer:  "What  did  you  say?  The 
Virginia  reel?  Has  it  begun?"  His  head  was  too 
muddled  for  quick  thinking. 

"Not  yet,  Willits,  but  it  will  right  away — everybody 
is  on  the  floor  now,"  returned  Harry,  his  eyes  in  search 
of  something  to  hold  Kate's  refreshment. 

"Then  it  is  my  dance,  Harry.  I  thought  the  reel 
was  to  be  just  before  supper  or  I  would  have  hunted 
Miss  Kate  up." 

"So  it  is,"  laughed  Harry,  catching  up  an  empty 
plate  from  the  serving  table  and  moving  to  where  the 
ices  were  spread.  "You  ought  to  know,  for  you  told 
her  yourself.  It  is  about  to  begin.  They  were  taking 
their  partners  when  I  left." 

"Then  that's  my  reel,"  Willits  insisted.  "You 
heard  what  Miss  Kate  said,  Harry — that's  what  I  told 
you  too,  Mr.  Temple,"  and  he  turned  to  St.  George 
for  confirmation. 

"  Oh,  but  you  are  mistaken,  Langdon,"  continued 
Harry,  bending  over  the  dish.  "She  said  she  would 

74 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

decide  later  on  whether  to  give  you  the  reel  or  a  schot- 
tische — and  she  has.  Miss  Kate  dances  this  reel  with 
me."  There  was  a  flash  in  his  eye  as  he  spoke,  but  he 
was  still  the  host. 

"  And  I  suppose  you  will  want  the  one  after  supper 
too,"  snapped  Willits.  He  had  edged  closer  and  was 
now  speaking  to  Harry's  bent  back. 

"  Why,  certainly,  if  Miss  Kate  is  willing  and  wishes 
it,"  rejoined  Harry  simply,  still  too  intent  on  having 
the  ice  reach  his  sweetheart  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment  to  notice  either  Willits's  condition  or  his 
tone  of  voice. 

Willits  sprang  forward  just  as  Harry  regained  his 
erect  position.  "No  you  won't,  sir!"  he  cried  angrily. 
"I've  got  some  rights  here  and  I'm  going  to  protect 
them.  I'll  ask  Miss  Kate  myself  and  find  out  whether 
I  am  to  be  made  a  fool  of  like  this,"  and  before  St. 
George  could  prevent  started  for  the  door. 

Harry  dropped  the  plate  on  the  table  and  blocked 
the  enraged  man's  exit  with  his  outstretched  arm.  He 
was  awake  now — wide  awake — and  to  the  cause. 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  Langdon — not 
in  your  present  state.  Pull  yourself  together,  man! 
Miss  Seymour  is  not  accustomed  to  be  spoken  of  in 
that  way  and  you  know  it.  Now  don't  be  foolish — 
stay  here  with  Uncle  George  and  the  doctor  until  you 
cool  down.  There  are  the  best  of  reasons  why  I 
should  dance  the  reel  with  Miss  Kate,  but  I  can't 
explain  them  now." 

"Neither  am  I,  Mr.  Harry  Rutter,  accustomed  to 
75 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

be  spoken  to  in  that  way  by  you  or  anybody  else. 
I  don't  care  a  rap  for  your  explanations.  Get  out  of 
my  way,  or  you'll  be  sorry,"  and  he  sprang  one  side 
and  flung  himself  out  of  the  room  before  Harry  could 
realize  the  full  meaning  of  his  words. 

St.  George  saw  the  flash  in  the  boy's  eyes,  and 
stretching  out  his  hand  laid  it  on  Harry's  arm. 

"Steady,  my  boy!  Let  him  go — Kate  will  take 
care  of  him." 

"No!  I'll  take  care  of  him! — and  now!"  He  was 
out  of  the  room  and  the  door  shut  behind  him  before 
Temple  could  frame  a  reply. 

St.  George  shot  an  anxious,  inquiring  look  at 
Teackle,  who  nodded  his  head  in  assent,  and  the 
two  hurried  from  the  room  and  across  the  expanse 
of  white  crash,  Willits  striding  ahead,  Harry  at  his 
heels,  St.  George  and  the  doctor  following  close  be 
hind. 

Kate  stood  near  the  far  door,  her  radiant  eyes  fixed 
on  Harry's  approaching  figure — the  others  she  did 
not  see.  Willits  reached  her  first: 

"Miss  Kate,  isn't  this  my  dance?"  he  burst  out — 
"didn't  you  promise  me?" 

Kate  started  and  for  a  moment  her  face  flushed. 
If  she  had  forgotten  any  promise  she  had  made  it 
certainly  was  not  intentional.  Then  her  mind  acted. 
There  must  be  no  bad  blood  here — certainly  not  be 
tween  Harry  and  Willits. 

"No,  not  quite  that,  Mr.  Willits,"  she  answered  in 
her  sweetest  voice,  a  certain  roguish  coquetry  in  its 

76 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

tones.  "  I  said  I'd  think  it  over,  and  you  never  came 
near  me,  and  so  Harry  and  I  are " 

"But  you  did  promise  me."  His  voice  could  be 
heard  all  over  the  room — even  the  colonel,  who  was 
talking  to  a  group  of  ladies,  raised  his  head  to  listen, 
his  companions  thinking  the  commotion  was  due  to 
the  proper  arranging  of  the  dance. 

Harry's  eyes  flashed;  angry  blood  was  mounting  to 
his  cheeks.  He  was  amazed  at  Willits's  outburst. 

"You  mean  to  contradict  Miss  Kate!  Are  you 
crazy,  Willits?" 

"  No,  I  am  entirely  sane,"  he  retorted,  an  ugly  ring 
in  his  voice. 

Everybody  had  ceased  talking  now.  Good-natured 
disputes  over  the  young  girls  were  not  uncommon 
among  the  young  men,  but  this  one  seemed  to  have 
an  ominous  sound.  Colonel  Rutter  evidently  thought 
so,  for  he  had  now  risen  from  his  seat  and  was  crossing 
the  room  to  where  Harry  and  the  group  stood. 

"  Well,  you  neither  act  nor  talk  as  if  you  were  sane," 
rejoined  Harry  in  cold,  incisive  tones,  inching  his  way 
nearer  Kate,  as  if  to  be  the  better  prepared  to  defend 
her. 

Willits's  lip  curled.  "I  am  not  beholden  to  you, 
sir,  for  my  conduct,  although  I  can  be  later  on  for  my 
words.  Let  me  see  your  dancing-card,  Miss  Kate," 
and  he  caught  it  from  her  unresisting  hand.  "  There 
— what  did  I  tell  you!"  This  came  with  a  flare  of  in 
dignation.  "It  was  a  blank  when  I  saw  it  last  and 
you've  filled  it  in,  sir,  of  your  own  accord  I "  Here  he 

77 


KKNNEDY  SCJUAUIO 

faced  Harry.  "That's  your  handwriting -I'll  leave 
it  to  you,  Mr.  Temple,  if  it  isn't  his  handwriting." 

Harry  (lushed  scarlet  and  his  eyes  bla/cd  as  lie 
stepped  toward  (he  speaker.  Kate  shrank  back  in 
alarm  she  had  read  Harry's  face  and  knew  what 
was  behind  it. 

"Take  that  back,  Langdon— quick!  You  are  my 
guest,  but  you  mustn't  say  things  like  that  here.  I 
put  my  name  on  the  cart!  because4  Miss  Kate  asked 
me  to.  Take  it  back,  sir — now! — and  then  make  an 
humble  apology  to  Miss  Seymour." 

"  I'll  take  back  nothing!  I've  been  cheated  out  of  a 
dance.  Here  take  her  and  take  this  with  her!" 
and  he  tore  Kate's  card  in  half  and  threw  the  pieces 
in  his  host's  face. 

\\ith  the  spring  of  a  cat,  Harry  lunged  forward 
and  raised  his  arm  as  if  to  strike  \ViIlits  in  the  face: 
AVillits  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height  and  con 
fronted  him:  Kate  shrivelled  within  herself,  all  the 
color  gone  from  her  cheeks.  Whether  to  call  out  for 
help  or  withdraw  quietly,  was  what  pu///led  her.  Both 
would  concentrate  the  attention  of  the  whole  room  on 
the  dispute. 

St.  (leorge,  who  was  boiling  with  indignation  and 
disgust,  but  still  cool  and  himself,  pushed  his  way  into 
the  middle  of  the  group. 

"Not  a  word,  Harry,"  he  whispered  in  low,  frigid 
tones.  "This  can  be  settled  in  another  way."  Then 
in  his  kindest  voice,  so  loud  that  all  could  hear — 
"Teaekle,  will  you  and  Mr.  Willits  please  meet  me 

78 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

in  the  colonel's  den — that,  perhaps,  is  the  best  place 
after  all  to  straighten  out  these  (angles.  I'll  join  you 
there  as  soon  as  I  have  Miss  Kate  safely  settled." 
He  bent  over  her:  "Kate,  dear,  perhaps  you  had  l>et- 
ter  sit  alongside  of  Mrs.  Rutter  until  I  can  get  tin-  a 
young  fellows  cooled  off" — and  in  a  still  lower  key— 
"you  behaved  admirably,  my  girl — admirably.  I'm 
proud  of  you.  Mr.  Willits  has  had  too  much  to 
drink — that  is  what  is  the  matter  with  him,  but  it  will 
be  all  over  in  a  minute — and,  Harry,  my  boy,  suppose 
you  help  me  look  up  Teackle,"  and  he  laid  his  hand 
with  an  authoritative  pressure  on  the  boy's  arm. 

The  colonel  had  by  this  time  reached  the  group 
and  stood  trying  to  catch  the  cue.  He  had  heard  (In 
closing  sentence  of  St.  George's  instructions,  but  he 
had  missed  the  provocation,  although  he  had  seen 
Harry's  uplifted  fist. 

"What's  the  matter,  St.  George?"  he  inquired 
nervously. 

"  Just  a  little  misunderstanding,  Talbot,  as  to  who 
was  to  dance  with  our  precious  Kate,"  St.  George  an 
swered  with  a  laugh,  as  he  gripped  Harry's  arm  the 
tighter.  "She  is  such  a  darling  that  it  is  as  much  as 
I  can  do  to  keep  these  young  Komeos  from  running 
each  other  through  the  body,  they  are  so  madly  in 
love  with  her.  I  am  thinking  of  making  off  with  her 
myself  as  the  only  way  to  keep  the  peace.  Yes,  you 
dear  girl,  I'll  come  back.  Hold  the  music  up  for  a 
little  while,  Talbot,  until  I  can  straighten  them  all 
out,"  and  with  his  arm  still  tight  through  Harry's,  the 

79 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

two  walked  the  length  of  the  room  and  closed  the  far 
door  behind  them. 

Kate  looked  after  them  and  her  heart  sank  all  the 
lower.  She  knew  the  feeling  between  the  two  men, 
and  she  knew  Harry's  hot,  ungovernable  temper — 
the  temper  of  the  Rutters.  Patient  as  he  often  was, 
and  tender-hearted  as  he  could  be,  there  flashed  into 
his  eyes  now  and  then  something  that  frightened  her 
— something  that  recalled  an  incident  in  the  history  of 
his  house.  He  had  learned  from  his  gentle  mother 
to  forgive  affronts  to  himself;  she  had  seen  him  do  it 
many  times,  overlooking  what  another  man  would 
have  resented,  but  an  affront  to  herself  or  any  other 
woman  was  a  different  matter:  that  he  would  never 
forgive.  She  knew,  too,  that  he  had  just  cause  to  be 
offended,  for  in  all  her  life  no  one  had  ever  been  so 
rude  to  her.  That  she  herself  was  partly  to  blame 
only  intensified  her  anxiety.  Willits  loved  her,  for  he 
had  told  her  so,  not  once,  but  several  times,  although 
she  had  answered  him  only  with  laughter.  She 
should  have  been  honest  and  not  played  the  coquette: 
and  yet,  although  the  fault  was  partly  her  own,  never 
had  she  been  more  astonished  than  at  his  outburst. 
In  all  her  acquaintance  with  him  he  had  never  lost 
his  temper.  Harry,  of  course,  would  lay  it  to  Willits's 
lack  of  breeding — to  the  taint  in  his  blood.  But  she 
knew  better — it  was  the  insanity  produced  by  drink, 
combined  with  his  jealousy  of  Harry,  which  had  caused 
the  gross  outrage.  If  she  had  only  told  Willits  herself 
of  her  betrothal  and  not  waited  to  surprise  him  before 

80 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

the  assembled  guests,  it  would  have  been  fairer  and 
spared  every  one  this  scene. 

All  these  thoughts  coursed  through  her  mind  as  with 
head  still  proudly  erect  she  crossed  the  room  on  the 
Dolonel's  arm,  to  a  seat  beside  her  future  mother-in- 
law,  who  had  noticed  nothing,  and  to  whom  not  a 
syllable  of  the  affair  would  have  been  mentioned,  all 
such  matters  being  invariably  concealed  from  the  dear 
lady. 

Old  Mrs.  Cheston,  however,  was  more  alert;  not 
only  had  she  caught  the  anger  in  Harry's  eyes,  but  she 
had  followed  the  flight  of  the  torn  card  as  its  pieces 
fell  to  the  floor.  She  had  once  been  present  at  a 
reception  given  by  a  prime  minister  when  a  similar 
fracas  had  occurred.  Then  it  was  a  lady's  glove  and 
not  a  dancing-card  which  was  thrown  in  a  rival's  face, 
and  it  was  a  rapier  that  flashed  and  not  a  clenched  fist. 

"What  was  the  matter  over  there,  Talbot?"  she 
demanded,  speaking  from  behind  her  fan  when  the 
colonel  came  within  hearing. 

"Nothing!  Some  little  disagreement  about  who 
should  lead  the  Virginia  reel  with  Kate.  I  have 
stopped  the  music  until  they  fix  it  up." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,  Talbot  Rutter,  not  to  me. 
There  was  bad  blood  over  there — you  better  look  after 
them.  There'll  be  trouble  if  you  don't." 

The  colonel  tucked  the  edge  of  a  rebellious  ruffle 
inside  his  embroidered  waistcoat  and  with  a  quiet 
laugh  said:  "St.  George  is  attending  to  them." 

"St.  George  is  as  big  a  fool  as  you  are  about  such 
81 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

things.     Go,  I  tell  you,  and  see  what  they  are  doing 
in  there  with  the  door  shut." 

"  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Cheston,"  echoed  her  host  with 
a  deprecating  wave  of  his  hand — "my  Harry  would 
no  more  attack  a  man  under  his  own  roof  than  you 
would  cut  off  your  right  hand.  He's  not  born  that 
way — none  of  us  are." 

"  You  talk  like  a  perfect  idiot,  Talbot!"  she  retorted 
angrily.  "You  seem  to  have  forgotten  everything  you 
knew.  These  young  fellows  here  are  so  many  tinder 
boxes.  There  will  be  trouble  I  tell  you — go  out  there 
and  find  out  what  is  going  on,"  she  reiterated,  her 
voice  increasing  in  intensity.  "They've  had  time 
enough  to  fix  up  a  dozen  Virginia  reels — and  besides, 
Kate  is  waiting,  and  they  know  it.  Look!  there's 
some  one  coming  out — it's  that  young  Teackle.  Call 
him  over  here  and  find  out!" 

The  doctor,  who  had  halted  at  the  door,  was  now 
scrutinizing  the  faces  of  the  guests  as  if  in  search  of 
some  one.  Then  he  moved  swiftly  to  the  far  side  of 
the  room,  touched  Mark  Gilbert,  Harry's  most  inti 
mate  friend,  on  the  shoulder,  and  the  two  left  the  floor. 

Kate  sat  silent,  a  fixed  smile  on  her  face  that  ill 
concealed  her  anxiety.  She  had  heard  every  word  of 
the  talk  between  Mrs.  Cheston  and  the  colonel,  but 
she  did  not  share  the  old  lady's  alarm  as  to  any  actual 
conflict.  She  would  trust  Uncle  George  to  avoid  that. 
But  what  kept  Harry?  Why  leave  her  thus  abruptly 
and  send  no  word  back  ?  In  her  dilemma  she  leaned 
forward  and  touched  the  colonel's  arm. 

82 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"You  don't  think  anything  is  the  matter,  dear 
colonel,  do  you?" 

"With  whom,  Kate?" 

"Between  Harry  and  Mr.  Willits.  Harry  might 
resent  it — he  was  very  angry."  Her  lips  were  quiver 
ing,  her  eyes  strained.  She  could  hide  her  anxiety 
from  her  immediate  companions,  but  the  colonel  was 
Harry's  father. 

The  colonel  turned  quickly:  "Resent  it  here!  un 
der  his  own  roof,  and  the  man  his  guest  ?  That  is  one 
thing,  my  dear,  a  Rutter  never  violates,  no  matter 
what  the  provocation.  I  have  made  a  special  excep 
tion  in  Mr.  Willits's  favor  to-night  and  Harry  knows  it. 
It  was  at  your  dear  father's  request  that  I  invited  the 
young  fellow.  And  then  again,  I  hear  the  most  de 
lightful  things  about  his  own  father,  who  though  a 
plain  man  is  of  great  service  to  his  county — one  of  Mr. 
Clay's  warmest  adherents.  All  this,  you  see,  makes  it 
all  the  more  incumbent  that  both  my  son  and  myself 
should  treat  him  with  the  utmost  consideration,  and, 
as  I  have  said,  Harry  understands  this  perfectly. 
You  don't  know  my  boy;  I  would  disown  him,  Kate, 
if  he  laid  a  hand  on  Mr.  Willits — and  so  should  you." 


83 


CHAPTER  V 

When  Dr.  Teackle  shut  the  door  of  the  ballroom 
upon  himself  and  Mark  Gilbert  the  two  did  not  tarry 
long  in  the  colonel's  den,  which  was  still  occupied  by 
half  a  dozen  of  the  older  men,  who  were  being  beguiled 
by  a  relay  of  hot  terrapin  that  Alec  had  just  served. 
On  the  contrary,  they  continued  on  past  the  serving 
tables,  past  old  Cobden  Dorsey,  who  was  steeped  to 
the  eyes  in  Santa  Cruz  rum  punch;  past  John  Pur- 
viance,  and  Gatchell  and  Murdoch,  smacking  their 
lips  over  the  colonel's  Madeira,  dived  through  a  door 
leading  first  to  a  dark  passage,  mounted  to  a  short 
flight  of  steps  leading  to  another  dark  passage,  and  so 
on  through  a  second  door  until  they  reached  a  small 
room  level  with  the  ground.  This  was  the  colonel's 
business  office,  where  he  conducted  the  affairs  of  the 
estate — a  room  remote  from  the  great  house  and  never 
entered  except  on  the  colonel's  special  invitation  and 
only  then  when  business  of  importance  necessitated 

its  use. 

That  business  of  the  very  highest  importance— not 
in  any  way  connected  with  the  colonel,  though  of  the 
very  gravest  moment — was  being  enacted  here  to 
night,  could  be  seen  the  instant  Teackle,  with  Gilbert 
at  his  heels,  threw  open  the  door.  St.  George  and 
Harry  were  in  one  corner— Harry  backed  against  the 

84 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

wall.  The  boy  was  pale,  but  perfectly  calm  and  silent. 
On  his  face  was  the  look  of  a  man  who  had  a  duty 
to  perform  and  who  intended  to  go  through  with  it 
come  what  might.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  room 
stood  Willits  with  two  young  men,  his  most  intimate 
friends.  They  had  followed  him  out'  of  the  ballroom 
to  learn  the  cause  of  his  sudden  outburst,  and  so  far 
had  only  heard  Willits's  side  of  the  affair.  He  was 
now  perfectly  sober  and  seemed  to  feel  his  position, 
but  he  showed  no  fear.  On  the  desk  lay  a  mahogany 
case  containing  the  colonel's  duelling  pistols.  Harry 
had  taken  them  from  his  father's  closet  as  he  passed 
through  the  colonel's  den. 

St.  George  turned  to  the  young  doctor.  His  face 
was  calm  and  thoughtful,  and  he  seemed  to  realize 
fully  the  gravity  of  the  situation. 

"  It's  no  use,  Teackle,"  St.  George  said  with  an  ex 
pressive  lift  of  his  fingers.  "I  have  done  everything 
a  man  could,  but  there  is  only  one  way  out  of  it.  I 
have  tried  my  best  to  save  Kate  from  every  unhappi- 
ness  to-night,  but  this  is  something  much  more  im 
portant  than  woman's  tears,  and  that  is  her  lover's 
honor." 

"You  mean  to  tell  me,  Uncle  George,  that  you 
can't  stop  this!"  Teackle  whispered  with  some  heat, 
his  eyes  strained,  his  lips  twitching.  Here  he  faced 
Harry.  "You  sha'n't  go  on  with  this  affair,  I  tell 
you,  Harry.  What  will  Kate  say  ?  Do  you  think  she 
wants  you  murdered  for  a  foolish  thing  like  this! — 
and  that's  about  what  will  happen." 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

The  boy  made  no  reply,  except  to  shake  his  head. 
He  knew  what  Kate  would  say — knew  what  she  would 
do,  and  knew  what  she  would  command  him  to  do, 
could  she  have  heard  Willits's  continued  insults  in 
this  very  room  but  a  moment  before  while  St.  George 
was  trying  to  make  him  apologize  to  his  host  and  so 
end  the  disgraceful  incident. 

"  Then  I'll  go  and  bring  in  the  colonel  and  see  what 
he  can  do!"  burst  out  Teackle,  starting  for  the  door. 
"  It's  an  outrage  that " 

"  You'll  stay  here,  Teackle,"  commanded  St.  George 
— "right  where  you  stand!  This  is  no  place  for  a 
father.  Harry  is  of  age." 

"But  what  an  ending  to  a  night  like  this!" 

"  I  know  it  —  horrible!  —  frightful !  —  but  I  would 
rather  see  the  boy  lying  dead  at  my  feet  than  not  de 
fend  the  woman  he  loves.*  This  came  in  a  decisive 
tone,  as  if  he  had  long  since  made  up  his  mind  to  this 
phase  of  the  situation. 

"  But  Langdon  is  Harry's  guest,"  Teackle  pleaded, 
dropping  his  voice  still  lower  to  escape  being  heard 
by  the  group  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room — "and 
he  is  still  under  his  roof.  It  is  never  done — it  is 
against  the  code.  Besides" —  and  his  voice  became 
a  whisper — "  Harry  never  levelled  a  pistol  at  a  man  in 
his  life,  and  this  is  not  Langdon's  first  meeting.  We 
can  fix  it  in  the  morning.  I  tell  you  we  must  fix  it." 

Harry,  who  had  been  listening  quietly,  reached 
across  the  table,  picked  up  the  case  of  pistols,  handed 
it  to  Gilbert,  whom  he  had  chosen  as  his  second,  and 

86 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

in  a  calm,  clear,  staccato  tone — each  word  a  bullet 
rammed  home — said: 

"  No — Teackle,  there  will  be  no  delay  until  to-mor 
row.  Mr.  Willits  has  forfeited  every  claim  to  being 
my  guest  and  I  will  fight  him  here  and  now.  I  could 
never  look  Kate  in  the  face,  nor  would  she  ever  speak 
to  me  again,  if  I  took  any  other  course.  You  forget 
that  he  virtually  told  Kate  she  lied/'  and  he  gazed 
steadily  at  Willits  as  if  waiting  for  the  effect  of  his 
shot. 

St.  George's  eyes  kindled.  There  was  the  ring  of  a 
man  in  the  boy's  words.  He  had  seen  the  same  look 
on  the  elder  Rutter's  face  in  a  similar  situation  twenty 
years  before.  As  a  last  resort  he  walked  toward 
where  Willits  stood  conferring  with  his  second. 

"I  ask  you  once  more,  Mr.  Willits" — he  spoke  in 
his  most  courteous  tones  (Willits's  pluck  had  greatly 
raised  him  in  his  estimation) — "  to  apologize  like  a 
man  and  a  gentleman.  There  is  no  question  in  my 
mind  that  you  have  insulted  your  host  in  his  own  house 
and  been  discourteous  to  the  woman  he  expects  to 
marry,  and  that  the  amende  honorable  should  come 
from  you.  I  am  twice  your  age  and  have  had  many 
experiences  of  this  kind,  and  I  would  neither  ask  you 
to  do  a  dishonorable  thing  nor  would  I  permit  you  to 
do  it  if  I  could  prevent  it.  Make  a  square,  manly 
apology  to  Harry." 

Willits  gazed  at  him  with  a  certain  ill-concealed 
contempt  on  his  face.  He  was  at  the  time  loosening 
the  white  silk  scarf  about  his  throat  in  preparation 

87 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

for  the  expected  encounter.  He  evidently  did  not 
believe  a  word  of  that  part  of  the  statement  which 
referred  to  Harry's  engagement.  If  Kate  had  been 
engaged  to  Harry  she  would  have  told  him  so. 

"You  are  only  wasting  your  time,  Mr.  Temple," 
he  answered  with  an  impatient  lift  of  his  chin  as  he 
stripped  his  coat  from  his  broad  shoulders.  "You 
have  just  said  there  is  only  one  way  to  settle  this — I 
am  ready — so  are  my  friends.  You  will  please  meet 
me  outside — there  is  plenty  of  firelight  under  the  trees, 
and  the  sooner  we  get  through  this  the  better.  The 
apology  should  not  come  from  me,  and  will  not. 
Come,  gentlemen,"  and  he  stepped  out  into  the  now 
drizzling  night,  the  glare  of  the  torches  falling  on  his 
determined  face  and  white  shirt  as  he  strode  down 
the  path  followed  by  his  seconds. 

Seven  gentlemen  hurriedly  gathered  together,  one  a 
doctor  and  another  in  full  possession  of  a  mahogany 
case  containing  two  duelling  pistols  with  their  ac 
companying  ammunition,  G.  D.  gun  caps,  powder- 
horn,  swabs  and  rammers,  and  it  past  eleven  o'clock 
at  night,  would  have  excited  but  little  interest  to  the 
average  darky — especially  one  unaccustomed  to  the 
portents  and  outcomes  of  such  proceedings. 

Not  so  Alec,  who  had  absorbed  the  situation  at  a 
glance.  He  had  accompanied  his  master  on  two  such 
occasions — one  at  Bladensburg  and  the  other  on  a 
neighboring  estate,  when  the  same  suggestive  tokens 
had  been  visible,  except  that  those  fights  took  place  at 
daybreak,  and  after  every  requirement  of  the  code 

88 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

had  been  complied  with,  instead  of  under  the  flare 
of  smoking  pine  torches  and  within  a  step  of  the  con 
testant's  front  door.  He  had,  besides,  a  most  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  contents  of  the  mahogany  case,  it 
being  part  of  his  duty  to  see  that  these  defenders  of 
the  honor  of  all  the  Rutters — and  they  had  been  in  fre 
quent  use — were  kept  constantly  oiled  and  cleaned. 
He  had  even  cast  some  bullets  the  month  before  under 
the  colonel's  direction.  That  he  was  present  to-night 
was  entirely  due  to  the  fact  that  having  made  a  short 
cut  to  the  kitchen  door  in  order  to  hurry  some  dishes, 
he  had  by  the  merest  chance,  and  at  the  precise  psy 
chological  moment,  run  bump  up  against  the  warlike 
party  just  before  they  had  reached  the  duelling  ground. 
This  was  a  well-lighted  path  but  a  stone's  throw  from 
the  porch,  and  sufficiently  hidden  by  shrubbery  to  be 
out  of  sight  of  the  ballroom  windows. 

The  next  moment  the  old  man  was  in  full  cry  to  the 
house.  He  had  heard  the  beginning  of  the  trouble 
while  he  was  carrying  out  St.  George's  orders  regard 
ing  the  two  half-emptied  bowls  of  punch  and  under 
stood  exactly  what  was  going  to  happen,  and  why. 

"Got  de  colonel's  pistols!"  he  choked  as  he  sped 
along  the  gravel  walk  toward  the  front  door  the  quicker 
to  reach  the  ballroom — "and  Marse  Harry  nothin' 
but  a  baby!  Gor-a-Mighty!  Gor-a-Mighty!"  Had 
they  all  been  grown-ups  he  might  not  have  minded — 
but  his  "Marse  Harry,"  the  child  he  brought  up,  his 
idol— his  chum!— "Fo'  Gawd,  dey  sha'n't  kill  'im— 
dey  sha'n't!— <%  sha'n't!!" 

89 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

He  had  reached  the  porch  now,  swung  back  the 
door,  and  with  a  sudden  spring — it  was  wonderful  how 
quick  he  moved — had  dashed  into  the  ballroom, 
now  a  maze  of  whirling  figures — a  polka  having 
struck  up  to  keep  everybody  occupied  until  the  reel 
was  finally  made  up. 

"Marse  Talbot!— Marse  Talbot!"  All  domestic 
training  was  cast  aside,  not  a  moment  could  be  lost — 
"All  on  ye! — dey's  murder  outside — somebody  go  git 
de  colonel! — Oh,  Gawd! — somebody  git  'im  quick!" 

Few  heard  him  and  nobody  paid  any  attention  to 
his  entreaties;  nor  could  anybody,  when  they  did 
listen,  understand  what  he  wanted — the  men  swearing 
under  their  breath,  the  girls  indignant  that  he  had 
blocked  their  way.  Mrs.  Rutter,  who  had  seen  his 
in-rush,  sat  aghast.  Had  Alec,  too,  given  way,  she 
wondered — old  Alec  who  had  had  full  charge  of  the 
wine  cellar  for  years!  But  the  old  man  pressed  on, 
still  shouting,  his  voice  almost  gone,  his  eyes  bursting- 
from  his  head. 

"  Dey's  gwineter  murder  Marse  Harry — I  seen  'em  I 
Oh! — whar's  de  colonel!  Won't  somebody  please — 
Oh,  my  Gawd! — dis  is  awful!  Don't  I  tell  ye  dey's 
gwineter  kill  Marse  Harry!" 

Mrs.  Cheston,  sitting  beside  Kate,  was  the  only  one 
who  seemed  to  understand. 

"Alec!"  she  called  in  her  imperious  voice — "Alec I 
• — come  to  me  at  once!  What  is  the  matter?" 

The  old  butler  shambled  forward  and  stood  trem 
bling,  the  tears  streaming  down  his  cheeks. 

90 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Yes,  mum — I'm  yere!  Oh,  can't  ye  git  de  colo 
nel—ain't  nobody  else'll  do " 

"Is  it  a  duel?" 

"Yes,  mum!  I  jes'  done  see  'em!  Dey's  gwineter 
kill  my  Marse  Harry!" 

Kate  sprang  up.  "  Where  are  they  ?  "  she  cried,  shiv 
ering  with  fear.  The  old  man's  face  had  told  the  story. 

"  Out  by  de  greenhouse — dey  was  measurin'  ofT  de 
groun' — dey's  got  de  colonel's  pistols — you  kin  see  'em 
from  de  winder!" 

In  an  instant  she  had  parted  the  heavy  silk  curtains 
and  lifted  the  sash.  She  would  have  thrown  herself 
from  it  if  Mrs.  Cheston  had  not  held  her,  although  it 
was  but  a  few  feet  from  the  ground. 

"Harry!"  she  shrieked — an  agonizing  shriek  that 
reverberated  through  the  ballroom,  bringing  every 
body  and  everything  to  a  stand-still.  The  dancers 
looked  at  each  other  in  astonishment.  What  had 
happened  ?  Who  had  fainted  ? 

The  colonel  now  passed  through  the  room.  He 
had  been  looking  after  the  proper  handling  of  the 
famous  Madeira,  and  had  just  heard  that  Alec  wanted 
him,  and  was  uncertain  as  to  the  cause  of  the  disturb 
ance.  A  woman's  scream  had  reached  his  ears,  but 
he  did  not  know  it  was  Kate's  or  he  would  have 
quickened  his  steps. 

Again  Kate's  voice  pierced  the  room: 

"Harry!  Harry!" — this  time  in  helpless  agony. 
She  had  peered  into  the  darkness  made  denser  by  the 
light  rain,  and  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  man  stand- 

91 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

ing  erect  without  his  coat,  the  light  of  the  torches 
bringing  his  figure  into  high  relief — whose  she  could 
not  tell,  the  bushes  were  so  thick. 

The  colonel  brushed  everybody  aside  and  pulled 
Kate,  half  fainting,  into  the  room.  Then  he  faced 
Mrs.  Cheston. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  he  asked  sharply.  "  What 
is  going  on  outside?" 

"Just  what  I  told  you.  Those  fools  are  out  there 
trying  to  murder  each  other!" 

Two  shots  in  rapid  succession  rang  clear  on  the 
night  air. 

The  colonel  stood  perfectly  still.  No  need  to  tell 
him  now  what  had  happened,  and  worse  yet,  no  need 
to  tell  him  what  icould  happen  if  he  showed  the 
slightest  agitation.  He  was  a  cool  man,  accustomed 
to  critical  situations,  and  one  who  never  lost  his  head 
in  an  emergency.  Only  a  few  years  before  he  had 
stopped  a  runaway  hunter,  with  a  girl  clinging  to  a 
stirrup,  by  springing  straight  at  the  horse's  head  and 
bringing  them  both  to  the  ground  unhurt.  It  only  re 
quired  the  same  instantaneous  concentration  of  all  his 
forces,  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  gazed  into  old  Alec's 
terror-stricken  face  framed  by  the  open  window. 
Once  let  the  truth  be  known  and  the  house  would  be 
in  a  panic — women  fainting,  men  rushing  out,  taking 
sides  with  the  combatants,  with  perhaps  other  duels 
to  follow — Mrs.  Rutter  frantic,  the  ball  suddenly 
broken  up,  and  this,  too,  near  midnight,  with  most  of 
his  guests  ten  miles  and  more  from  home. 

92 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Murmurs  of  alarm  were  already  reaching  his  ears: 
What  was  it? — who  had  fainted? — did  the  scream 
come  from  inside  or  outside  the  room  ? — what  was  the 
firing  about? 

He  turned  to  allay  Kate's  anxiety,  but  she  had 
cleared  the  open  window  at  a  bound  and  was  already 
speeding  toward  where  she  had  seen  the  light  on  the 
man's  shirt.  For  an  instant  he  peered  after  her  into 
the  darkness,  and  then,  his  mind  made  up,  closed  the 
sash  with  a  quick  movement,  flung  together  the  silk 
curtains  and  raised  his  hand  to  command  attention. 

"Keep  on  with  the  dance,  my  friends;  I'll  go  and 
find  out  what  has  happened — but  it's  nothing  that  need 
worry  anybody — only  a  little  burnt  powder.  Alec, 
go  and  tell  Mr.  Grant,  the  overseer,  to  keep  better 
order  outside.  In  the  meantime  let  everybody  get 
ready  for  the  Virginia  reel;  supper  will  be  served  in  a 
few  minutes.  Will  you  young  gentlemen  please  choose 
your  partners,  and  will  some  one  of  you  kindly  ask 
the  music  to  start  up?" 

Slowly,  and  quite  as  if  he  had  been  called  to  the 
front  door  to  welcome  some  belated  guest,  he  walked 
the  length  of  the  room  preceded  by  Alec,  who,  agonized 
at  his  master's  measured  delay,  had  forged  ahead 
to  open  the  door.  This  closed  and  they  out  of  sight, 
the  two  hurried  down  the  path. 

Willits  lay  flat  on  the  ground,  one  arm  stretched 
above  his  head.  He  had  measured  his  full  length,  the 
weight  of  his  shoulder  breaking  some  flower-pots  as 
he  fell.  Over  his  right  eye  gaped  an  ugly  wound  from 

93 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

which  oozed  a  stream  of  blood  that  stained  his  cheek 
and  throat.  Dr.  Teackle,  on  one  knee,  was  searching 
the  patient's  heart,  while  Kate,  her  pretty  frock  soiled 
with  mud,  her  hair  dishevelled,  sat  crouched  in  the 
dirt  rubbing  his  hands — sobbing  bitterly — crying  out 
whenever  Harry,  who  was  kneeling  beside  her,  tried  to 
soothe  her: — "No! —  No! —  My  heart's  broken — 
don't  speak  to  me — go  away!" 

The  colonel,  towering  above  them,  looked  the  scene 
over,  then  he  confronted  Harry,  who  had  straightened 
to  his  feet  on  seeing  his  father. 

..'•^Hf  prettj^iece  of  work — and  on  a  night  like  this! 
A  damnable  piece  of  work,  I  should  say,  sir! ...  Has 
he  killed  him,  Teackle?" 

The  young  doctor  shook  his  head  ominously. 

"I  cannot  tell  yet — his  heart  is  still  beating." 

St.  George  now  joined  the  group.  He  and  Gilbert 
and  the  other  seconds  had,  in  order  to  maintain 
secrecy,  been  rounding  up  the  few  negroes  who  had 
seen  the  encounter,  or  who  had  been  attracted  to  the 
spot  by  the  firing. 

"Harry  had  my  full  consent,  Talbot — there  was 
really  nothing  else  to  do.  Only  an  ounce  of  cold  lead 
will  do  in  some  cases,  and  this  was  one  of  them." 
He  was  grave  and  deliberate  in  manner,  but  there  was 
an  infinite  sadness  in  his  voice. 

"He  did— did  he?"  retorted  the  colonel  bitterly. 
"  Your  full  consent !  YOURS  !  and  I  in  the  next  room ! " 
Here  he  beckoned  to  one  of  the  negroes  who,  with 
staring  eyeballs,  stood  gazing  from  one  to  the  other- 

94 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Come  closer,  Eph — not  a  whisper,  remember,  or  I'll 
cut  the  hide  off  your  back  in  strips.  Tell  the  others 
what  I  say — if  a  word  of  this  gets  into  the  big  house 
or  around  the  cabins  I'll  know  who  to  punish.  Now 
two  or  three  of  you  go  into  the  greenhouse,  pick  up  one 
of  those  wide  planks,  and  lift  this  gentleman  onto  it 
so  we  can  carry  him.  Take  him  into  my  office,  doc 
tor,  and  lay  him  on  my  lounge.  He'd  better  die  there 
than  here.  Come,  Kate — do  you  go  with  me.  Not  a 
syllable  of  this,  remember,  Kate,  to  Mrs.  Rutter,  or 
anybody  else.  As  for  you,  sir  " —  and  he  looked  Harry 
squarely  in  the  face — "you  will  hear  from  me  later  on." 

With  the  same  calm  determination,  he  entered  the 
ballroom,  walked  to  the  group  forming -the  reel,  and, 
with  a  set  smile  on  this  face  indicating  how  idle  had 
been  everybody's  fears,  said  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
by  every  one  about  him: 

"  Only  one  of  the  men,  my  dear  young  people,  who 
has  been  hurt  in  the  too  careless  use  of  some  fire 
arms.  As  to  dear  Kate — she  has  been  so  upset — she 
happened  unfortunately  to  see  the  affair  from  the 
window — that  she  has  gone  to  her  room  and  so  you 
must  excuse  her  for  a  little  while.  Now  everybody 
keep  on  with  the  dance." 

With  his  wife  he  was  even  more  at  ease.  "The 
same  old  root  of  all  evil,  my  dear,"  he  said  with  a  dry 
laugh — "  too  much  peach  brandy,  and  this  time  down 
the  wrong  throats — and  so  in  their  joy  they  must  cele 
brate  by  firing  off  pistols  and  wasting  my  good  ammu 
nition,"  an  explanation  which  completely  satisfied  the 

95 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

dear  lady — peach  brandy  being  capable  of  producing 
any  calamity,  great  or  small. 

But  this  would  not  do  for  Mrs.  Cheston.  She  was 
a  woman  who  could  be  trusted  and  who  never,  on 
any  occasion,  lost  her  nerve.  He  saw  from  the  way 
she  lifted  her  eyebrows  in  inquiry,  instead  of  framing 
her  question  in  words,  that  she  fully  realized  the 
gravity  of  the  situation.  The  colonel  looked  at  her 
significantly,  made  excuse  to  step  in  front  of  her,  his 
back  to  the  room,  and  with  his  forefinger  tapping  his 
forehead,  whispered: 

"Willits." 

The  old  lady  paled,  but  she  did  not  change  her  ex 
pression.  , 

"And  Harry?"    she  murmured  in  return. 

The  colonel  kept  his  eyes  upon  her,  but  he  made 
no  answer.  A  hard,  cold  look  settled  on  his  face — 
one  she  knew — one  his  negroes  feared  when  he  grew 
angry. 

Again  she  repeated  Harry's  name,  this  time  in  alarm: 

"Quick!— tell  me— not  killed?" 

"No— I  wish  to  God  he  werel" 


96 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  wounded  man  lay  on  a  lounge  in  me  office  room, 
which  was  dimly  lighted  by  the  dying  glow  of  the  out 
side  torches  and  an  oil  lamp  hurriedly  brought  in. 
No  one  was  present  except  St.  George,  Harry,  the 
doctor,  and  a  negro  woman  who  had  brought  in  some 
pillows  and  hot  water.  All  that  could  be  done  for  him 
had  been  done;  he  was  unconscious  and  his  life  hung 
by  a  thread.  Harry,  now  that  the  mysterious  thing 
called  his  "honor"  had  been  satisfied,  was  helping 
Teackle  wash  the  wound  prior  to  an  attempt  to  probe 
for  the  ball. 

The  boy  was  crying  quietly — the  tears  streaming 
unbidden  down  his  cheeks — it  was  his  first  experience 
at  this  sort  of  thing.  He  had  been  brought  up  to 
know  that  some  day  it  might  come  and  that  he  must 
then  face  it,  but  he  had  never  before  realized  the  hor 
ror  of  what  might  follow.  And  yet  he  had  not  reached 
the  stage  of  regret ;  he  was  sorry  for  the  wounded  man 
and  for  his  suffering,  but  he  was  not  sorry  for  his  own 
share  in  causing  it.  He  had  only  done  his  duty,  and 
but  for  a  stroke  of  good  luck  he  and  Willits  might 
have  exchanged  places.  Uncle  George  had  expressed 
his  feelings  exactly  when  he  said  that  only  a  bit  of  cold 
lead  could  settle  some  insults,  and  what  insult  could 

97 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

have  been  greater  than  the  one  for  which  he  had  shot 
Willits  ?  What  was  a  gentleman  to  do  ?  Go  around 
meeting  his  antagonist  every  day? — the  two  ignor 
ing  each  other?  Or  was  he  to  turn  stable  boy,  and 
pound  him  with  his  fists? — or,  more  ridiculous  still, 
have  him  bound  over  to  keep  the  peace,  or  bring  an 
action  for— Bah!— for  what?— Yes— for  what?  Wil 
lits  hadn't  struck  him,  or  wounded  him,  or  robbed  him. 
It  had  been  his  life  or  Willits's.  No — there  was  no 
other  way — couldn't  be  any  other  way.  Willits  knew 
it  when  he  tore  up  Kate's  card — knew  what  would 
follow.  There  was  no  deception — nothing  underhand. 
And  he  had  got  precisely  what  he  deserved,  sorry  as 
he  felt  for  his  sufferings. 

Then  Kate's  face  rose  before  him — haunted  him. 
Why  hadn't  she  seen  it  this  way?  Why  had  she  re 
fused  to  look  at  him — refused  to  answer  him — driven 
him  away  from  her  side,  in  fact  ? — he  who  had  risked 
his  life  to  save  her  from  insult!  Why  wouldn't  she 
allow  him  to  even  touch  her  hand?  Why  did  she 
treat  Willits — drunken  vulgarian  as  he  was — differently 
from  the  way  she  had  treated  him  ?  She  had  broken 
off  her  engagement  with  him  because  he  was  drunk  at 
Mrs.  Cheston's  ball,  where  nobody  had  been  hurt  but 
himself,  and  here  she  was  sympathizing  with  another 
drunken  man  who  had  not  only  outraged  all  sense  of 
decency  toward  her,  but  had  jeopardized  the  life  of 
her  affianced  husband  who  defended  her  against  his 
insults;  none  of  which  would  have  happened  had  the 
man  been  sober.  All  this  staggered  him. 

98 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

More  astounding  still  was  her  indifference.  She 
had  not  even  asked  if  he  had  escaped  unhurt,  but  had 
concentrated  all  her  interest  upon  the  man  who  had 
insulted  her.  As  to  his  own  father's  wrath — that  he 
had  expected.  It  was  his  way  to  break  out,  and  this 
he  knew  would  continue  until  he  realized  the  enormity 
of  the  insult  to  Kate  and  heard  how  he  and  St.  George 
had  tried  to  ward  off  the  catastrophe.  Then  he  would 
not  only  change  his  opinion,  but  would  commend  him 
for  his  courage. 

Outside  the  sick-room  such  guests  as  could  be  trusted 
were  gathered  together  in  the  colonel's  den,  where 
they  talked  in  whispers.  All  agreed  that  the  ladies 
and  the  older  men  must  be  sent  home  as  soon  as  pos 
sible,  and  in  complete  ignorance  of  what  had  occurred. 
If  Willits  lived — of  which  there  was  little  hope — his 
home  would  be  at  the  colonel's  until  he  fully  recovered, 
the  colonel  having  declared  that  neither  expense  nor 
care  would  be  spared  to  hasten  his  recovery.  If  he 
died,  the  body  would  be  sent  to  his  father's  house 
later  on. 

With  this  object  in  view  the  dance  was  adroitly 
shortened,  the  supper  hurried  through,  and  within  an 
hour  after  midnight  the  last  carriage  and  carryall  of 
those  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  duel  had  departed, 
the  only  change  in  the  programme  being  the  non- 
opening  of  the  rare  old  bottle  of  Madeira  and  the  an 
nouncement  of  Harry's  and  Kate's  engagement — an 
omission  which  provoked  little  comment,  as  it  had 
been  known  to  but  few. 

99 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Kate  remained.  She  had  tottered  upstairs  holding 
on  to  the  hand-rail  and  had  thrown  herself  on  a  bed 
in  the  room  leading  out  of  the  dressing-room,  where 
she  lay  in  her  mud-stained  dress,  the  silken  petticoat 
torn  and  bedraggled  in  her  leap  from  the  window. 
She  was  weeping  bitterly,  her  old  black  mammy  sit 
ting  beside  her  trying  to  comfort  her  as  best  she 
could. 

With  the  departure  of  the  last  guest — Mr.  Seymour 
among  them;  the  colonel  doing  the  honors;  standing 
bare-headed  on  the  porch,  his  face  all  smiles  as  he 
bade  them  good-by — the  head  of  the  house  of  Rutter 
turned  quickly  on  his  heel,  passed  down  the  corridor, 
made  his  way  along  the  long  narrow  hall,  and  entered 
his  office,  where  the  wounded  man  lay.  Harry,  the 
negro  woman,  and  Dr.  Teackle  alone  were  with  him. 

"Is  there  any  change?"  he  asked  in  a  perfectly 
even  voice.  Every  vestige  of  the  set  smile  of  the  host 
had  left  his  face.  Harry  he  did  not  even  notice. 

"  Not  much — he  is  still  alive,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"Have  you  found  the  ball?" 

"No — I  have  not  looked  for  it — I  will  presently." 

The  colonel  moved  out  a  chair  and  sat  down  beside 
the  dying  man,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  lifeless  face. 
Some  wave  of  feeling  must  have  swept  through  him, 
for  after  a  half-stifled  sigh,  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  as 
if  to  himself: 

"This  will  be  a  fine  story  to  tell  his  father,  won't  it  ? 
— and  here  too — under  my  roof.  My  God ! — was  there 
ever  anything  more  disgraceful!"  He  paused  for  a 

100 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

moment,  his  eyes  still  on  the  sufferer,  and  then  went 
on — this  time  to  the  doctor — "  His  living  so  long  gives 
me  some  hope — am  I  right,  Teackle?" 

The  doctor  nodded,  but  he  made  no  audible  reply. 
He  had  bent  closer  to  the  man's  chest  and  was  at  the 
moment  listening  intently  to  the  labored  breathing, 
which  seemed  to  have  increased. 

Harry  edged  nearer  to  the  patient,  his  eyes  seeking 
for  some  move  of  life.  All  his  anger  had  faded. 
Willits,  his  face  ablaze  with  drink  and  rage,  his  eyes 
flashing,  his  strident  voice  ringing  out — even  Kate's 
shocked,  dazed  face,  no  longer  filled  his  mind.  It  was 
the  suffering  man — trembling  on  the  verge  of  eternity, 
shot  to  death  by  his  own  ball — that  appealed  to  him. 
And  then  the  suddenness  of  it  all — less  than  an  hour 
had  passed  since  this  tall,  robust  young  fellow  stood 
before  him  on  the  stairs,  hanging  upon  every  word 
that  fell  from  Kate's  lips — and  here  he  lay  weltering 
in  his  own  blood. 

Suddenly  his  father's  hopeful  word  to  the  doctor 
sounded  in  his  ears.  Suppose,  after  all,  Willits  should 
get  well!  Then  Kate  would  understand  and  forgive 
him!  As  this  thought  developed  in  his  mind  his 
spirits  rose.  He  scanned  the  sufferer  the  more  in 
tently,  straining  his  neck,  persuading  himself  that  a 
slight  twitching  had  crossed  the  dying  man's  face. 
Almost  instantaneously  the  doctor  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Quick,  Harry! — hand  me  that  brandy!  It's  just 
as  I  hoped — the  ball  has  ploughed  outside  the  skull 
— the  brain  is  untouched.  It  was  the  shock  that 

101 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

stunned  him.  Leave  the  room  everybody — you  too, 
colonel — he'll  come  to  in  a  minute  and  must  not  be 
excited." 

Harry  sprang  from  his  chair,  a  great  surge  of  thank 
fulness  rising  in  his  heart,  caught  up  the  decanter,  filled 
a  glass  and  pressed  it  to  the  sufferer's  lips.  The  colo 
nel  sat  silent  and  unmoved.  He  had  seen  too  many 
wounded  men  revive  and  then  die  to  be  unduly  ex 
cited.  That  Willets  still  breathed  was  the  only  feat 
ure  of  his  case  that  gave  him  any  hope. 

Harry  shot  an  inquiring  glance  at  his  father,  and 
receiving  only  a  cold  stare  in  return,  hurried  from 
the  room,  his  steps  growing  lighter  as  he  ran.  Kate 
must  hear  the  good  news  and  with  the  least  possible 
delay.  He  would  not  send  a  message — he  would  go 
himself;  then  he  could  explain  and  relieve  her  mind. 
She  would  listen  to  his  pleading.  It  was  natural  she 
should  have  been  shocked.  He  himself  had  been 
moved  to  sympathy  by  the  sufferer's  condition — how 
much  more  dreadful,  then,  must  have  been  the  sight  of 
the  wounded  man  lying  there  among  the  flower-pots 
to  a  woman  nurtured  so  carefully  and  one  so  sensitive 
in  spirit!  But  it  was  all  over — Willits  would  live — 
there  would  be  a  reconciliation — everything  would  be 
forgiven  and  everything  forgotten. 

All  these  thoughts  crowded  close  in  his  mind  as 
he  rushed  up  the  stairs  two  steps  at  a,  time  to  where 
his  sweetheart  lay  moaning  out  her  heart.  He  tapped 
lightly  and  her  old  black  mammy  opened  the  door  on 
a  crack. 

102 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"It's  Marse  Harry,  mistis,"  she  called  back  over 
her  shoulder— " shall  I  let  him  come  in?" 

"No!— no!— I  don't  want  to  see  him;  I  don't  want 
to  see  anybody— my  heart  is  broken!"  came  the  re 
ply  in  half-stifled  sobs. 

Harry,  held  at  bay,  rested  his  forehead  against  the 
edge  of  the  door  so  his  voice  could  reach  her  the 
better. 

"  But  Willits  isn't  going  to  die,  Kate  dear.  I  have 
just  left  him;  it's  only  a  scalp  wound.  Dr.  Teackle 
says  he's  all  right.  The  shock  stunned  him  into  un 
consciousness." 

"Oh,  I  don't  care  what  Dr.  Teackle  says!  It's 
you,  Harry!— You!  You  never  once  thought  of  me 
—Oh,  why  did  you  do  it?" 

"  I  did  think  of  you,  Kate!    I  never  thought  of  any 
thing  else— I  am  not  thinking  of  anything  else  now." 
"Oh,   to   think  you   tried  to  murder  him!     You, 
Harry — whom  I  loved  so!"  she  sobbed. 

"It  was  for  you,  Kate!  You  heard  what  he  said — 
you  saw  it  all.  It  was  for  you— for  nobody  else— 
for  you,  my  darling!  Let  me  come  in— let  me  hold 
you  close  to  me  and  tell  you." 

"No! — no — NO!  My  heart  is  broken!  Come  to 
me,  mammy!" 

The  door  shut  gently  and  left  him  on  the  outside, 
dazed  at  the  outcry,  his  heart  throbbing  with  tender 
ness  and  an  intense,  almost  ungovernable  impulse  to 
force  his  way  into  the  room,  take  her  in  his  arms,  and 
comfort  her. 

103 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

The  closed  door  brought  him  to  his  senses.  To 
morrow,  after  all,  would  be  better,  he  confessed  tc 
himself  humbly.  Nothing  more  could  be  done  to 
night.  Yes — to-morrow  he  would  tell  her  all.  He 
turned  to  descend  the  stairs  and  ran  almost  into  Alec's 
arms.  The  old  man  was  trembling  with  excitement 
and  seemed  hardly  able  to  control  himself.  He  had 
come  in  search  of  him,  and  had  waited  patiently  at 
Kate's  door  for  the  outcome  of  the  interview,  every 
word  of  which  he  had  overheard. 

"  Marse  Talbot  done  sont  me  fer  ye,  Marse  Harry," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice;  "he  wants  ye  in  his  liT  room. 
Don't  ye  take  no  notice  what  de  young  mistis  says;  sh^ 
ain't  griebin'  fer  dat  man.  Dat  Willits  blood  ain't  no 
'count,  nohow;  dey's  po'  white  trash,  dey  is — eve'ybody 
knows  dat.  Let  Miss  Kate  cry  herse'f  out;  dat's  de 
on'y  help  now.  Mammy  Henny  '11  look  arter  her 
till  de  mawnin' " — to  none  of  which  did  Harry  make 
answer. 

When  they  reached  the  bottom  step  leading  to  the 
long  hall  the  old  man  stopped  and  laid  his  hand  on  his 
young  master's  shoulder.  His  voice  was  barely  audi 
ble  and  two  tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

"  Don't  you  take  no  notice  ob  what  happens  to-night, 
son,"  he  whispered.  "'Member  ye  kin  count  on  ol' 
Alec.  Ain't  neber  gwineter  be  nothin'  come  'twixt  m<- 
an'  you,  son.  I  ain't  neber  gwineter  git  tired  lovin'  ye 
— you  won't  fergit  dat,  will  ye  ?  " 

"No,  Alec,  but  Mr.  Willits  will  recover.  Dr. 
Teackle  has  just  said  so." 

104 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Oh,  dat  ain't  it,  son — it's  you,  Marse  Harry. 
Don't  let  'em  down  ye — stand  up  an'  fight  'em 
back." 

Harry  patted  the  old  servant  tenderly  on  the  arm 
to  calm  his  fears.  His  words  had  made  but  little 
impression  on  him.  If  he  had  heard  them  at  all  he 
certainly  did  not  grasp  their  import.  What  he  was 
wanted  for  he  could  not  surmise — nor  did  he  much 
care.  Now  that  Kate  had  refused  to  see  him  he  al 
most  wished  that  Willits's  bullet  had  found  its  target. 

"Where  did  you  say  my  father  was,  Alec?"  he 
asked  in  a  listless  voice. 

"In  his  liT  room,  son;  dey's  all  in  dar,  Marse 
George  Temple,  Mister  Gilbert — dem  two  gemmans 
who  stood  up  wid  Mister  Willits — dey's  all  dar. 
Don't  mind  what  dey  say,  honey — jes'  you  fall  back 
on  oP  Alec.  I  dassent  go  in;  maybe  I'll  be  yere  in 
de  pantry  so  ye  kin  git  hold  o'  me.  I'se  mos'  crazy, 
Marse  Harry — let  me  git  hold  ob  yo'  hand  once  mo', 
son.  Oh,  my  Gawd! — dey  sha'n't  do  nothin'  to  ye!" 

The  boy  took  the  old  man's  hand  in  his,  patted  it 
gently  and  resumed  his  walk.  The  least  said  the 
better  when  Alec  felt  like  this.  It  was  Kate's  voice 
that  pierced  his  ears — Kate's  sobs  that  wrenched  his 
heart:  "You  never  thought  of  me!"  Nothing  else 
counted. 

Harry  turned  the  handle  of  the  door  and  stepped 
boldly  in,  his  head  erect,  his  eyes  searching  the  room. 
It  was  filled  with  gentlemen,  some  sitting,  some  stand 
ing;  not  only  those  who  had  taken  part  in  the  duel, 

105 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

but  three  or  four  others  who  were  in  possession  of  the 
secret  that  lay  heavy  on  everybody's  mind. 

He  looked  about  him:  most  of  the  candles  had 
burned  low  in  the  socket;  some  had  gone  out.  The 
few  that  still  nickered  cast  a  dim,  ghostly  light.  The 
remains  of  the  night's  revel  lay  on  the  larger  table 
and  the  serving  tables: — a  half  empty  silver  dish  of 
terrapin,  caked  over  with  cold  grease;  portion  of  a 
ham  with  the  bone  showing;  empty  and  partly  filled 
glasses  and  china  cups  from  which  the  toddies  and 
eggnog  had  been  drunk.  The  smell  of  rum  and 
lemons  intermingled  with  the  smoke  of  snuffed-out 
candle  wicks  greeted  his  nostrils — a  smell  he  remem 
bered  for  years  and  always  with  a  shudder. 

There  had  evidently  been  a  heated  discussion,  for 
his  father  was  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  his 
face  flushed,  his  black  eyes  blazing  with  suppressed 
anger,  his  plum-colored  coat  unbuttoned  as  if  to  give 
him  more  breathing  space,  his  silk  scarf  slightly  awry. 
St.  George  Temple  must  have  been  the  cause  of  his 
wrath,  for  the  latter's  voice  was  reverberating  through 
the  room  as  Harry  stepped  in. 

"I  tell  you,  Talbot,  you  shall  not — you  dare  not!" 
St.  George  was  exclaiming,  his  voice  rising  in  the  in 
tensity  of  his  indignation.  His  face  was  set,  his  eyes 
blazing;  all  his  muscles  taut.  He  stood  like  an  aveng 
ing  knight  guarding  some  pathway.  Harry  looked  on 
in  amazement — he  had  never  seen  his  uncle  like  this 
before. 

The  colonel  wheeled  about  suddenly  and  raised  his 
106 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

clenched  hand.  He  seemed  to  be  nervously  unstrung 
and  for  a  moment  to  have  lost  his  self-control. 

"Stop,  St.  George!"  he  thundered.  "Stop  in 
stantly!  Not  another  word,  do  you  hear  me?  Don't 
strain  a  friendship  that  has  lasted  from  boyhood  or  I 
may  forget  myself  as  you  have  done.  No  man  can 
tell  me  what  I  shall  or  shall  not  do  when  my  honor  is 
at  stake.  Never  before  has  a  Rutter  disgraced  him 
self  and  his  blood.  I  am  done  with  him,  I  tell  you!" 

"But  the  man  will  get  well!"  hissed  St.  George, 
striding  forward  and  confronting  him.  "Teackle  has 
just  said  so — you  heard  him;  we  all  heard  him!" 

"That  makes  no  difference;  that  does  not  relieve 
my  son." 

Rutter  had  now  become  aware  of  Harry's  presence. 
So  had  the  others,  who  turned  their  heads  in  the  boy's 
direction,  but  no  one  spoke.  They  had  not  the  lifelong 
friendship  that  made  St.  George  immune,  and  few  of 
them  would  have  dared  to  disagree  with  Talbot  Rut 
ter  in  anything. 

"And  now,  sir" — here  the  colonel  made  a  step  tow 
ards  where  Harry  stood,  the  words  falling  as  drops 
of  water  fall  on  a  bared  head — "I  have  sent  for  you 
to  tell  you  just  what  I  have  told  these  gentlemen.  I 
lave  informed  them  openly  because  I  do  not  wish 
either  my  sense  of  honor  or  my  motives  to  be  misun 
derstood.  Your  performances  to-night  have  been  so 
dastardly  and  so  ill-bred  as  to  make  it  impossible  for 
me  ever  to  live  under  the  same  roof  with  you  again." 
Harry  started  and  his  lips  parted  as  if  to  speak,  but 

107 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

he  made  no  sound.  "  You  have  disgraced  your  blood 
and  violated  every  law  of  hospitality.  Mr.  Willits 
should  have  been  as  safe  here  as  you  would  have  been 
under  his  father's  roof.  If  he  misbehaved  himself 
you  could  have  ordered  his  carriage  and  settled  the 
affair  next  day,  as  any  gentleman  of  your  standing 
would  have  done.  I  have  sent  for  a  conveyance  to 
take  you  wherever  you  may  wish  to  go."  Then,  turn 
ing  to  St.  George,  "  I  must  ask  you,  Temple,  to  fill  my 
place  and  see  that  these  gentlemen  get  their  proper 
carriages,  as  I  must  join  Mrs.  Rutter,  who  has  sent 
for  me.  Good-night,"  and  he  strode  from  the  room. 

Harry  stared  blankly  into  the  faces  of  the  men  about 
him:  first  at  St.  George  and  then  at  the  others — one 
after  another — as  if  trying  to  read  what  was  passing 
in  their  minds.  No  one  spoke  or  moved.  His  father's 
intentions  had  evidently  been  discussed  before  the 
boy's  arrival  and  the  final  denunciation  had,  therefore, 
been  received  with  less  of  the  deadening  effect  than 
it  had  produced  on  himself.  Nor  was  it  a  surprise  to 
old  Alec,  who  despite  his  fears  had  followed  Harry 
noiselessly  into  the  room,  and  who  had  also  overheard 
the  colonel's  previous  outbreak  as  to  his  intended  dis 
position  of  his  young  master. 

St.  George,  who  during  the  outburst  had  stood 
leaning  against  the  mantel,  his  eyes  riveted  on  Harry, 
broke  the  silence. 

"That,  gentlemen/'  he  exclaimed,  straightening  to 
his  feet,  one  hand  held  high  above  his  head,  "is  the 
most  idiotic  and  unjust  utterance  that  ever  fell  from 

108 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Talbot  Rutter's  lips!  and  one  he  will  regret  to  his  dy 
ing  day.  This  boy  you  all  know — most  of  you  have 
known  him  from  childhood,  and  you  know  him,  as  I 
do,  to  be  the  embodiment  of  all  that  is  brave  and 
truthful.  He  is  just  of  age — without  knowledge  of 
the  world.  His  engagement  to  Kate  Seymour,  as 
some  of  you  are  aware,  was  to  be  made  known  to-night. 
Willits  was  drunk  or  he  would  not  have  acted  as  he 
did.  I  saw  it  coming  and  tried  to  stop  him.  That 
he  was  drunk  was  Rutter's  own  fault,  with  his  damned 
notions  of  drowning  everybody  in  drink  every  minute 
of  the  day  and  night.  I  saw  the  whole  affair  and 
heard  the  insult,  and  it  was  wholly  unprovoked. 
Harry  did  just  what  was  right,  and  if  he  hadn't  I'd 
either  have  made  Willits  apologize  or  I  would  have 
shot  him  myself  the  moment  the  affair  could  have 
been  arranged,  no  matter  where  we  were.  I  know 
perfectly  well " — here  he  swept  his  eyes  around — "  that 
there  is  not  a  man  in  this  room  who  does  not  feel  as  I 
do  about  Rutter's  treatment  of  this  boy,  and  so  I  shall 
not  comment  further  upon  it."  He  dropped  his 
clenched  hand  and  turned  to  Harry,  his  voice  still 
clear  and  distinct  but  with  a  note  of  tenderness  through 
it.  "And  now,  that  pronunciamentos  are  in  order, 
my  boy,  here  is  one  which  has  less  of  the  Bombastes 
Furioso  in  it  than  the  one  you  have  just  listened  to — 
but  it's  a  damned  sight  more  humane  and  a  damned 
sight  more  fatherly,  and  it  is  this: — hereafter  you  be 
long  to  me — you  are  my  son,  my  comrade,  and,  if  I 
ever  have  a  dollar  to  give  to  any  one,  my  heir.  And 

109 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

now  one  thing  more,  and  I  don't  want  any  one  of 
you  gentlemen  within  sound  of  my  voice  ever  to  for 
get  it:  When  hereafter  any  one  of  you  reckon  with 
Harry  you  will  please  remember  that  you  reckon  with 
me." 

He  turned  suddenly.  "Excuse  me  one  moment, 
gentlemen,  and  I  will  then  see  that  you  get  your 
several  carriages.  Alec  I — where's  Alec  ?  " 

The  old  darky  stepped  out  of  the  shadow.  "I'm 
yere,  sah." 

"Alec,  go  and  tell  Matthew  to  bring  my  gig  to  the 
front  porch — and  be  sure  you  see  that  your  young 
master's  heavy  driving-coat  is  put  inside.  Mr.  Harry 
spends  the  night  with  me." 


110 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  secrecy  enjoined  upon  everybody  conversant 
with  the  happenings  at  Moorlands  did  not  last  many 
hours.  At  the  club,  across  dinner  tables,  at  tea,  on 
the  street,  and  in  the  libraries  of  Kennedy  Square, 
each  detail  was  gone  over,  each  motive  discussed. 
None  of  the  facts  were  exaggerated,  nor  was  the 
gravity  of  the  situation  lightly  dismissed.  Duels  were 
not  so  common  as  to  blunt  the  sensibilities.  On  the 
contrary,  they  had  begun  to  be  generally  deplored  and 
condemned,  a  fact  largely  due  to  the  bitterness  result 
ing  from  a  famous  encounter  which  had  taken  place  a 
year  or  so  before  between  young  Mr.  Cocheran,  the 
son  of  a  rich  landowner,  and  Mr.  May — the  circum 
stances  being  somewhat  similar,  the  misunderstand 
ing  having  arisen  at  a  ball  in  Washington  over  a  reign 
ing  belle,  during  which  Mr.  May  had  thrown  his  card 
in  Cocheran's  face.  In  this  instance  all  the  require 
ments  of  the  code  were  complied  with.  The  duel 
was  fought  in  an  open  space  behind  Nelson's  Hotel, 
near  the  Capitol,  Mr.  Cocheran  arriving  at  half-past 
five  in  the  morning  in  a  magnificent  coach  drawn  by 
four  white  horses,  his  antagonist  reaching  the  grounds 
in  an  ordinary  conveyance,  the  seconds  and  the  two 
surgeons  on  horseback.  Both  fired  simultaneously, 

111 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

with  the  result  that  May  escaped  unhurt,  while  Coch- 
eran  was  shot  through  the  head  and  instantly  killed. 

Public  opinion,  indeed,  around  Kennedy  Square, 
was,  if  the  truth  be  told,  undergoing  many  and  seri 
ous  changes.  For  not  only  the  duel  but  some  other  of 
the  traditional  customs  dear  to  the  old  regime  were 
falling  into  disrepute — especially  the  open  sideboards, 
synonymous  with  the  lavish  hospitality  of  the  best 
houses.  While  most  of  the  older  heads,  brought  up 
on  the  finer  and  rarer  wines,  knew  to  a  glass  the  limit 
of  their  endurance,  the  younger  bloods  were  constantly 
losing  control  of  themselves,  a  fact  which  was  causing 
the  greatest  anxiety  among  the  mothers  of  Kennedy 
Square. 

This  growing  antipathy  had  been  hastened  and 
solidified  by  another  tragedy  quite  as  widely  discussed 
as  the  Cocheran  and  May  duel — more  so,  in  fact,  since 
this  particular  victim  of  too  many  toddies  had  been 
the  heir  of  one  of  the  oldest  residents  about  Kennedy 
Square — a  brilliant  young  surgeon,  self-exiled  because 
of  his  habits,  who  had  been  thrown  from  his  horse  on 
the  Indian  frontier — an  Iowa  town,  really — shattering 
his  leg  and  making  its  amputation  necessary.  There 
being  but  one  other  man  in  the  rough  camp  who  had 
ever  seen  a  knife  used — and  he  but  a  student — the 
wounded  surgeon  had  directed  the  amputation  him 
self,  even  to  the  tying  of  the  arteries  and  the  bandages 
and  splints.  Only  then  did  he  collapse.  The  hero — 
and  he  was  a  hero  to  every  one  who  knew  of  his  cool 
ness  and  pluck,  in  spite  of  his  recognized  weakness 

112 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

— had  returned  to  his  father's  house  on  Kennedy 
Square  on  crutches,  there  to  consult  some  specialists, 
the  leg  still  troubling  him.  As  the  cripple's  bedroom 
was  at  the  top  of  the  first  flight  of  stairs,  the  steps  of 
which — it  being  summer — were  covered  with  China 
matting,  he  was  obliged  to  drag  himself  up  its  incline 
whenever  he  was  in  want  of  something  he  must  fetch 
himself.  One  of  these  necessities  was  a  certain  squat 
bottle  like  those  which  had  graced  the  old  sideboards. 
Half  a  dozen  times  a  day  would  he  adjust  his  crutches, 
their  steel  points  preventing  his  slipping,  and  mount 
the  stairs  to  his  room,  one  step  at  a  time. 

Some  months  after,  when  the  matting  was  taken 
up,  the  mother  took  her  youngest  boy — he  was  then 
fifteen — to  the  steps: 

"  Do  you  see  the  dents  of  your  brother's  crutches  ? 
— count  them.  Every  one  was  a  nail  in  his  coffin." 
They  were — for  the  invalid  died  that  winter. 

These  marked  changes  in  public  opinion,  imper 
ceptible  as  they  had  been  at  first,  were  gradually  pav 
ing  the  way,  it  may  be  said,  for  the  dawn  of  that  new 
order  of  things  which  only  the  wiser  and  more  far- 
sighted  men — men  like  Richard  Horn — were  able  to 
discern.  While  many  of  the  old  regime  were  willing 
to  admit  that  the  patriarchal  life,  with  the  negro  as  the 
worker  and  the  master  as  the  spender,  had  seen  its 
best  days,  but  few  of  them,  at  the  period  of  these 
chronicles,  realized  that  the  genius  of  Morse,  Hoe,  and 
McCormick,  and  a  dozen  others,  whose  inventions 
were  just  beginning  to  be  criticised,  and  often  con- 

113 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

demned,  were  really  the  chief  factors  in  the  making 
of  a  new  and  greater  democracy:  that  the  cog,  the 
drill,  the  grate-bar,  and  the  flying  shuttle  would  ere 
long  supplant  the  hoe  and  the  scythe;  and  that  when 
the  full  flood  of  this  new  era  was  reached  their  old- 
time  standards  of  family  pride,  reckless  hospitality, 
and  even  their  old-fashioned  courtesy  would  well- 
nigh  be  swept  into  space.  The  storm  raised  over  this 
and  the  preceding  duel  had  they  but  known  it,  was 
but  a  notch  in  the  tide-gauge  of  this  flood. 

"I  understand,  St.  George,  that  you  could  have 
stopped  that  disgraceful  affair  the  other  night  if  you 
had  raised  your  hand,"  Judge  Pancoast  had  blurted 
out  in  an  angry  tone  at  the  club  the  week  following. 
"  I  did  raise  it,  judge,"  replied  St.  George,  calmly  draw 
ing  off  his  gloves. 

"  They  don't  say  so — they  say  you  stood  by  and  en 
couraged  it." 

"Quite  true,"  he  answered  in  his  dryest  voice. 
"  When  I  raised  my  hand  it  was  to  drop  my  handker 
chief.  They  fired  as  it  fell." 

"And  a  barbarous  and  altogether  foolish  piece  of 
business,  Temple.  There  is  no  justification  for  that 
sort  of  thing,  and  if  Rutter  wasn't  a  feudal  king  up 
in  his  own  county  there  would  be  trouble  over  it.  It's 
God's  mercy  the  poor  fellow  wasn't  killed.  Fine  be 
ginning,  isn't  it,  for  a  happy  married  life?" 

"  Better  not  have  any  wife  at  all,  judge,  than  wed 
a  woman  whose  good  name  you  are  afraid  to  defend 
with  your  life.  There  are  some  of  us  who  can  stand 

114 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

anything  but  that,  and  Harry  is  built  along  the  same 
lines.  A  fine,  noble,  young  fellow — did  just  right  and 
has  my  entire  confidence  and  my  love.  Think  it  over, 
judge,"  and  he  strolled  into  the  card-room,  picked  up 
the  morning  paper,  and  buried  his  face  in  its  columns, 
his  teeth  set,  his  face  aflame  with  suppressed  disgust  at 
the  kind  of  blood  running  in  the  judge's  veins. 

The  colonel's  treatment  of  his  son  also  came  in 
for  heated  discussion.  Mrs.  Cheston  was  particularly 
outspoken.  Such  quixotic  action  on  the  ground  of 
safeguarding  the  rights  of  a  young  drunkard  like  Wil- 
lits,  who  didn't  know  when  he  had  had  enough,  might 
very  well  do  for  a  self-appointed  autocrat  like  Rutter, 
she  maintained,  but  some  equally  respectable  peo 
ple  would  have  him  know  that  they  disagreed  with 
him. 

"  Just  like  Talbot  Rutter,"  she  exclaimed  in  her  out 
spoken,  decided  way — "  no  sense  of  proportion.  High- 
tempered,  obstinate  as  a  mule,  and  a  hundred  years — 
yes,  five  hundred  years  behind  his  time.  And  he — 
could  have  stopped  it  all  too  if  he  had  listened  to  me. 
Did  you  ever  hear  anything  so  stupid  as  his  turning 
Harry — the  sweetest  boy  who  ever  lived — out  of  doors, 
and  in  a  pouring  rain,  for  doing  what  he  would  have 
done  himself!  Oh,  this  is  too  ridiculous — too  farcical. 
Why,  you  can't  conceive  of  the  absurdity  of  it  all — no 
body  can!  Gilbert  was  there  and  told  me  every  word 
of  it.  You  would  have  thought  he  was  a  grand  duke 
or  a  pasha  punishing  a  slave — and  the  funniest  thing 
about  it  is  that  he  believes  he  is  a  pasha.  Oh — I 

115 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

have  no  patience  with  such  contemptible  family  pride, 
and  that's  what  is  at  the  bottom  of  it." 

Some  of  the  back  county  aristocrats,  on  the  other 
hand — men  who  lived  by  themselves,  who  took  their 
cue  from  Alexander  Hamilton,  Lee,  and  Webb,  and 
believed  in  the  code  as  the  only  means  of  arbitrating 
a  difficulty  of  any  kind  between  gentlemen — stoutly 
defended  the  Lord  of  Moorlands. 

"Rutter  did  perfectly  right  to  chuck  the  young 
whelp  out  of  doors.  Outrageous,  sir — never  is  done — 
nothing  less  than  murder.  Ought  to  be  prosecuted  for 
challenging  a  man  under  his  own  roof — and  at  night 
too.  No  toss-up  for  position,  no  seconds  except  a 
parcel  of  boys.  Vulgar,  sir — infernally  vulgar,  sir.  I 
haven't  the  honor  of  Colonel  Rutter's  acquaintance 
— but  if  I  had  I'd  tell  him  so — served  the  brat  right — 
damn  him!" 

Richard  Horn  was  equally  emphatic,  but  in  a  far 
different  way.  Indeed  he  could  hardly  restrain  him 
self  when  discussing  it. 

"  I  can  think  of  nothing  my  young  boy  Oliver  would 
or  could  do  when  he  grows  up,"  he  exclaimed  fiercely 
— his  eyes  flashing,  "which  would  shut  him  out  of 
his  home  and  his  dear  mother's  care.  The  duel  is  a 
relic  of  barbarism  and  should  be  no  longer  tolerated; 
it  is  mob  law,  really,  and  indefensible,  with  two  per 
sons  defying  the  statutes  instead  of  a  thousand.  But 
Rutter  is  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  take  the  stand 
he  has,  and  I  sincerely  regret  his  action.  There  are 
many  bitter  days  ahead  of  him." 

116 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Nor  were  the  present  conditions,  aspirations,  and 
future  welfare  of  the  two  combatants,  and  of  the  lovely 
girl  over  whom  they  had  quarrelled,  neglected  by  the 
gossipers.  No  day  passed  without  an  extended  dis 
cussion  of  their  affairs.  Bearers  of  fresh  news  were 
eagerly  welcomed  both  to  toddy  and  tea  tables. 

Old  Morris  Murdoch,  who  knew  Willits's  father 
intimately,  being  a  strong  Clay  man  himself,  arrived 
at  one  of  these  functions  with  the  astounding  informa 
tion  that  Willits  had  called  on  Miss  Seymour,  wearing 
his  hat  in  her  presence  to  conceal  his  much-beplastered 
head.  That  he  had  then  and  there  not  only  made  her 
a  most  humble  apology  for  his  ill-tempered  outbreak, 
which  he  explained  was  due  entirely  to  a  combination 
of  egg-and-brandy,  with  a  dash  of  apple-toddy  thrown 
in,  but  had  declared  upon  his  honor  as  a  gentleman 
that  he  would  never  again  touch  the  flowing  bowl. 
Whereupon — (and  this  excited  still  greater  astonish 
ment) — the  delighted  young  lady  had  not  only  ex 
pressed  her  sympathy  for  his  misfortunes,  but  had 
blamed  herself  for  what  had  occurred! 

Tom  Tilghman,  a  famous  cross-country  rider,  who 
had  ridden  in  post  haste  from  his  country  seat  near 
Moorlands  to  tell  the  tale — as  could  be  seen  from  his 
boots,  which  were  still  covered  with  mud — boldly 
asserted  of  his  own  knowledge  that  the  wounded 
man,  instead  of  seeking  his  native  shore,  as  was  gener 
ally  believed,  would  betake  himself  to  the  Red  Sulphur 
Springs  (where  Kate  always  spent  the  summer) — ac 
companied  by  three  saddle  horses,  two  servants,  some 

117 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

extra  bandages,  and  his  devoted  sister,  there  to  re 
gain  what  was  left  of  his  health  and  strength.  At 
which  Judge  Pancoast  had  retorted — and  with  some 
heat — that  Willits  might  take  a  dozen  saddle  horses 
and  an  equal  number  of  sisters,  and  a  bale  of  ban 
dages  if  he  were  so  minded,  to  the  Springs,  or  any 
other  place,  but  he  would  save  time  and  money  if  he 
stayed  at  home  and  looked  after  his  addled  head,  as 
no  woman  of  Miss  Seymour's  blood  and  breeding 
could  possibly  marry  a  man  whose  family  escutcheon 
needed  polishing  as  badly  as  did  his  manners.  .  That 
the  fact — the  plain,  bold  fact — and  here  the  judge's 
voice  rose  to  a  high  pitch — was  that  Willits  was  boiling 
drunk  until  Harry's  challenge  sobered  him,  and  that 
Kate  hated  drunkenness  as  much  as  did  Harry's 
mother  and  the  other  women  who  had  started  out  to 
revolutionize  society. 

What  that  young  lady  herself  thought  of  it  all  not 
even  the  best-posted  gossip  in  the  club  dared  to  vent 
ure  an  opinion.  Moreover,  such  was  the  respect  and 
reverence  in  which  she  was  held,  and  so  great  was  the 
sympathy  felt  for  her  situation,  that  she  was  seldom 
referred  to  in  connection  with  Harry  or  the  affair  ex 
cept  with  a  sigh,  followed  by  a  "Too  bad,  isn't  it? — 
enough  to  break  your  heart,"  and  such  like  expres 
sions. 

What  the  Honorable  Prim  thought  of  it  all  was 
apparent  the  next  day  at  the  club  when  he  sputtered 
out  with: 

"Here's  a  nice  mess  for  a  man  of  my  position  to 
118 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

find  himself  in!  Do  you  know  that  I  am  now  pointed 
out  as  the  prospective  father-in-law  of  a  young  jacka 
napes  who  goes  about  with  a  glass  of  grog  in  one  hand 
and  a  pistol  in  the  other.  I  am  not  accustomed  to 
having  my  name  bandied  about  and  I  won't  have  it — 
I  live  a  life  of  great  simplicity,  minding  my  own  busi 
ness,  and  I  want  everybody  else  to  mind  theirs.  The 
whole  affair  is  most  contemptible  and  ridiculous  and 
smacks  of  the  tin-armor  age.  Willits  should  have 
been  led  quietly  out  of  the  room  and  put  to  bed  and 
young  Rutter  should  have  been  reprimanded  publicly 
by  his  father.  Disgraceful  on  a  night  like  that  when 
my  daughter's  name  was  on  everybody's  lips." 

After  which  outburst  he  had  shut  himself  up  in  his 
house,  where,  so  he  told  one  of  his  intimates,  he  in 
tended  to  remain  until  he  left  for  the  Red  Sulphur 
Springs,  which  he  would  do  several  weeks  earlier 
than  was  his  custom — a  piece  of  news  which  not  only 
confirmed  Tom  Tilghman's  gossip,  but  lifted  several 
eyebrows  in  astonishment  and  set  one  or  two  loose 
tongues  to  wagging. 

Out  at  Moorlands,  the  point  of  view  varied  as  the 
aftermath  of  the  tragedy  developed,  the  colonel  alone 
pursuing  his  daily  life*  without  comment,  although 
deep  down  in  his  heart  a  very  maelstrom  was  boiling 
and  seething. 

Mrs.  Rutter,  as  fate  would  have  it,  on  hearing  that 
Kate  was  too  ill  to  go  back  to  town,  had  gone  the  next 
morning  to  her  bedside,  where  she  learned  for  the  first 
time  not  only  of  the  duel — which  greatly  shocked  her, 

119 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

leaving  her  at  first  perfectly  limp  and  helpless — but  of 
Harry's  expulsion  from  his  father's  house — (Alec  owned 
the  private  wire) — a  piece  of  news  which  at  first  terri 
fied  and  then  keyed  her  up  as  tight  as  an  overstrung 
violin.  Like  many  another  Southern  woman,  she 
might  shrink  from  a  cut  on  a  child's  finger  and  only 
regain  her  mental  poise  by  a  liberal  application  of  smell 
ing  salts,  but  once  touch  that  boy  of  hers — the  child 
she  had  nourished  and  lived  for — and  all  the  rage  of 
the  she-wolf  fighting  for  her  cub  was  aroused.  What 
took  place  behind  the  closed  doors  of  her  bedroom 
when  she  faced  the  colonel  and  flamed  out,  no  one  but 
themselves  knew.  That  the  colonel  was  dumfounded — 
never  having  seen  her  in  any  such  state  of  mind — goes 
without  saying.  That  he  was  proud  of  her  and  liked 
her  the  better  for  it,  is  also  true — nothing  delighted 
him  so  much  as  courage; — but  nothing  of  all  this, 
impressive  as  it  was,  either  weakened  or  altered  his 
resolve. 

Nor  did  he  change  front  to  his  friends  and  acquaint 
ances:  his  honorable  name,  he  maintained,  had  been 
trailed  in  the  mud;  his  boasted  hospitality  betrayed; 
his  house  turned  into  a  common  shamble.  That  his 
own  son  was  the  culprit  made  the  pain  and  mortifica 
tion  the  greater,  but  it  did  not  lessen  his  responsibility 
to  his  blood.  Had  not  Foscari,  to  save  his  honor,  in 
the  days  of  the  great  republic,  condemned  his  own 
son  Jacopo  to  exile  and  death?  Had  not  Virginius 
slain  his  daughter?  Should  he  not  protect  his  own 
honor  as  well  ?  Furthermore,  was  not  the  young  man's 

120 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

father  a  gentleman  of  standing — a  prominent  man  in 
the  State — a  friend  not  only  of  his  own  friend,  Henry 
Clay,  but  of  the  governor  as  well?  He,  of  course, 
would  not  have  Harry  marry  into  the  family  had  there 
been  a  marriageable  daughter,  but  that  was  no  reason 
why  Mr.  Willits's  only  son  should  not  be  treated  with 
every  consideration.  He,  Talbot  Rutter,  was  alone 
responsible  for  the  honor  of  his  house.  When  your 
right  hand  offends  you  cut  it  off.  His  right  hand  had 
offended  him,  and  he  had  cut  it  off.  Away,  then, 
with  the  spinning  of  fine  phrases! 

And  so  he  let  the  hornets  buzz — and  they  did  swarm 
and  buzz  and  sting.  As  long  as  his  wrath  lasted  he 
was  proof  against  their  assaults — in  fact  their  attacks 
only  confirmed  him  in  his  position.  It  was  when  all 
this  ceased,  for  few  continued  to  remonstrate  with  him 
after  they  had  heard  his  final:  "I  decline  to  discuss 
it  with  you,  madame,"  or  the  more  significant:  "  How 
dare  you,  sir,  refer  to  my  private  affairs  without  my 
permission?" — it  was,  I  say,  when  all  this  ceased, 
and  when  neither  his  wife,  who  after  her  first  savage 
outbreak  had  purposely  held  her  peace,  nor  any  of  the 
servants — not  even  old  Alec,  who  went  about  with 
streaming  eyes  and  a  great  lump  in  his  throat — dared 
renew  their  entreaties  for  Marse  Harry's  return,  that 
he  began  to  reflect  on  his  course. 

Soon  the  great  silences  overawed  him — periods  of 
loneliness  when  he  sat  confronting  his  soul,  his  con 
science  on  the  bench  as  judge;  his  affections  a  special 
attorney: — silences  of  the  night,  in  which  he  would 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

listen  for  the  strong,  quick,  manly  footstep  and  the 
closing  of  the  door  in  the  corridor  beyond: — silences  of 
the  dawn,  when  no  clatter  of  hoofs  followed  by  a  cheery 
call  rang  out  for  some  one  to  take  Spitfire: — silences  of 
the  breakfast  table,  when  he  drank  his  coffee  alone, 
Alec  tip-toeing  about  like  a  lost  spirit.  Sometimes 
his  heart  would  triumph  and  he  begin  to  think  out 
ways  and  means  by  which  the  past  could  be  effaced. 
Then  again  the  flag  of  his  pride  would  be  raised  aloft 
so  that  he  and  all  the  people  could  see,  and  the  old 
hard  look  would  once  more  settle  in  his  face,  the  lips 
straighten  and  the  thin  fingers  tighten.  No — no!  No 
assassins  for  him — no  vulgar  brawlers — and  it  was  at 
best  a  vulgar  brawl — and  this  too  within  the  confines 
of  Moorlands,  where,  for  five  generations,  only  gentle 
men  had  been  bred! 

And  yet,  product  as  he  was  of  a  regime  that  wor 
shipped  no  ideals  but  its  own;  hide-bound  by  the  tra 
ditions  of  his  ancestry;  holding  in  secret  disdain  men 
and  women  who  could  not  boast  of  equal  wealth  and 
lineage;  dictatorial,  uncontradictable;  stickler  for  ob 
solete  forms  and  ceremonies — there  still  lay  deep  under 
the  crust  of  his  pride  the  heart  of  a  father,  and,  by  his 
standards,  the  soul  of  a  gentleman. 

What  this  renegade  son  of  his  thought  of  it  all;  this 
disturber  of  his  father's  sleeping  and  waking  hours,  was 
far  easier  to  discover.  Dazed  as  Harry  had  been  at 
the  parental  verdict  and  heart-broken  as  he  still  was 
over  the  dire  results,  he  could  not,  though  he  tried,  see 
what  else  he  could  have  done.  His  father,  he  argued 

122 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

to  himself,  had  shot  and  killed  a  man  when  he  was  but 
little  older  than  himself,  and  for  an  offence  much  less 
grave  than  Willits's  insult  to  Kate:  he  had  frequently 
boasted  of  it,  showing  him  the  big  brass  button  that 
had  deflected  the  bullet  and  saved  his  life.  So  had 
his  Uncle  George,  five  years  before — not  a  dead  man 
that  time,  but  a  lame  one — who  was  still  limping 
around  the  club  and  very  good  friends  the  two,  so 
far  as  he  knew.  Why  then  blame  himf  As  for  the 
law  of  hospitality  being  violated,  that  was  but  one 
of  the  idiosyncrasies  of  his  father,  who  was  daft  on 
hospitality.  How  could  Willits  be  his  guest  when  he 
was  his  enemy  ?  St.  George  had  begged  the  wounded 
man  to  apologize;  if  he  had  done  so  he  would  have 
extended  his  hand  and  taken  him  to  Kate,  who,  upon 
a  second  apology,  would  have  extended  her  hand,  and 
the  incident  would  have  been  closed.  It  was  Willits's 
stubbornness  and  bad  breeding,  then,  that  had  caused 
the  catastrophe — not  his  own  bullet. 

Besides  no  real  harm  had  been  done — that  is,  nothing 
very  serious.  Willits  had  gained  strength  rapidly — so 
much  so  that  he  had  sat  up  the  third  day.  More 
over,  he  had  the  next  morning  been  carried  to  one  of 
the  downstairs  bedrooms,  where,  he  understood,  Kate 
had  sent  her  black  mammy  for  news  of  him,  and 
where,  later  on,  he  had  been  visited  by  both  Mrs. 
Rutter  and  Kate — a  most  extraordinary  condescen 
sion  on  the  young  girl's  part,  and  one  for  which  Willits 
should  be  profoundly  grateful  all  the  days  of  his  life. 

Nor  had  Willits's  people  made  any  complaint;  nor, 
123 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

so  far  as  he  could  ascertain,  had  any  one  connected 
with  either  the  town  or  county  government  started 
an  investigation.  It  was  outside  the  precincts  of  Ken 
nedy  Square,  and,  therefore,  the  town  prosecuting  at 
torney  (who  had  heard  every  detail  at  the  Chesapeake 
from  St.  George)  had  not  been  called  upon  to  act,  and 
it  was  well  known  that  no  minion  of  the  law  in  and 
about  Moorlands  would  ever  dare  face  the  Lord  of 
the  Manor  in  any  official  capacity. 

Why,  then,  had  he  been  so  severely  punished? 


CHAPTER  VIII 

While  all  this  talk  filled  the  air  it  is  worthy  of  com 
ment  that  after  his  denunciation  of  Pancoast's  views 
at  the  club,  St.  George  never  again  discussed  the  duel 
and  its  outcome.  His  mind  was  filled  with  more  im 
portant  things: — one  in  particular — a  burning  desire 
to  bring  the  lovers  together,  no  matter  at  what  cost 
nor  how  great  the  barriers.  He  had  not,  despite 
his  silence,  altered  a  hair-line  of  the  opinion  he  had 
held  on  the  night  he  ordered  the  gig,  fastened  Harry's 
heavy  coat  around  the  young  man's  shoulders,  and 
started  back  with  him  through  the  rain  to  his  house 
on  Kennedy  Square;  nor  did  he  intend  to.  This, 
summed  up,  meant  that  the  colonel  was  a  tyrant, 
Willits  a  vulgarian,  and  Harry  a  hot-headed  young 
knight,  who,  having  been  forced  into  a  position  where 
he  could  neither  breathe  nor  move,  had  gallantly 
fought  his  way  out. 

The  one  problem  that  gave  him  serious  trouble  was 
the  selection  of  the  precise  moment  when  he  should 
make  a  strategic  move  on  Kate's  heart;  lesser  prob 
lems  were  his  manner  of  approaching  her  and  the 
excuses  he  would  offer  for  Harry's  behavior.  These 
not  only  kept  him  awake  at  night,  but  pursued  him 
like  an  avenging  spirit  when  he  sought  the  quiet  paths 

125 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

of  the  old  square,  the  dogs  at  his  heels.  The  greatest 
of  all  barriers,  he  felt  assured,  would  be  Kate  herself. 
He  had  seen  enough  of  her  in  that  last  interview,  when 
his  tender  pleading  had  restored  the  harmonies  be 
tween  herself  and  Harry,  to  know  that  she  was  no 
longer  the  child  whose  sweetness  he  loved,  or  the  girl 
whose  beauty  he  was  proud  of — but  the  woman  whose 
judgment  he  must  satisfy.  Nor  could  he  see  that  any 
immediate  change  in  her  mental  attitude  was  likely 
to  occur.  Some  time  had  now  passed  since  Harry's 
arrival  at  his  house,  and  every  day  the  boy  had  begged 
for  admission  at  Kate's  door,  only  to  be  denied  by 
Ben,  the  old  butler.  His  mother,  who  had  visited  her 
exiled  son  almost  daily,  had  then  called  on  her,  bear 
ing  two  important  pieces  of  news — one  being  that 
after  hours  of  pleading  Harry  had  consented  to  return 
to  Moorlands  and  beg  his  father's  pardon,  provided 
that  irate  gentleman  should  send  for  him,  and  the 
other  the  recounting  of  a  message  of  condolence  and 
sympathy  which  Willits  had  sent  Harry  from  his  sick 
bed,  in  which  he  admitted  that  he  had  been  greatly  to 
blame.  (An  admission  which  fairly  bubbled  out  of 
him  when  he  learned  that  Harry  had  assisted  Teackle 
in  dressing  his  wound.) 

And  yet  with  all  this  pressure  the  young  girl  had 
held  her  own.  To  every  one  outside  the  Rutter  clan 
she  had  insisted  that  she  was  sorry  for  Harry,  but  that 
she  could  never  marry  a  man  whose  temper  she  could 
not  trust.  She  never  put  this  into  words  in  answering 
the  well-meant  inquiries  of  such  girl  friends  as  Nellie 

126 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Murdoch,  Sue  Dorsey,  and  the  others;  then  her  eyes 
would  only  fill  with  tears  as  she  begged  them  not  to 
question  her  further.  Nor  had  she  said  as  much  to 
her  father,  who  on  one  occasion  had  asked  her  the 
plump  question — "Do  you  still  intend  to  marry  that 
hot-head?" — to  which  she  had  returned  the  equally 
positive  answer — "No,  I  never  shall!"  She  reserved 
her  full  meaning  for  St.  George  when  he  should  again 
entreat  her — as  she  knew  he  would  at  the  first  oppor 
tunity — to  forget  the  past  and  begin  the  old  life  once 
more. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  week  St.  George  had  made 
up  his  mind  as  to  his  course;  and  at  the  end  of  the 
third  the  old  diplomat,  who  had  dared  defeat  before, 
boldly  mounted  the  Seymour  steps.  He  would  appeal 
to  Harry 's  love  for  her,  and  all  would  be  well.  He 
had  done  so  before,  picturing  the  misery  the  boy  was 
suffering,  and  he  would  try  it  again.  If  he  could  only 
reach  her  heart  through  the  armor  of  her  reserve  she 
would  yield. 

She  answered  his  cheery  call  up  the  stairway  in 
person,  greeting  him  silently,  but  with  arms  extended, 
leading  him  to  a  seat  beside  her,  where  she  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands  and  burst  into  tears. 

"Harry  has  tried  to  see  you  every  day,  Kate,"  he 
began,  patting  her  shoulders  lovingly  in  the  effort  to 
calm  her.  "I  found  him  under  your  window  the 
other  night;  he  walks  the  streets  by  the  hour,  then  he 
comes  home  exhausted,  throws  himself  on  his  bed, 
and  lies  awake  till  daylight." 

127 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

The  girl  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment.  She  knew  what  he  had  come  for — she  knew, 
too,  how  sorry  he  felt  for  her — for  Harry — for  every 
body  who  had  suffered  because  of  this  horror. 

"  Uncle  George,"  she  answered,  choking  back  her 
tears,  speaking  slowly,  weighing  each  word — "you've 
known  me  from  a  little  girl — ever  since  my  dear  mother 
died.  You  have  been  a  big  brother  to  me  many, 
many  times  and  I  love  you  for  it.  If  I  were  deter 
mined  to  do  anything  that  would  hurt  me,  and  you 
found  it  out  in  time,  you  would  come  and  tell  me  so, 
wouldn't  you?" 

St.  George  nodded  his  head  in  answer,  but  he  did 
not  interrupt.  Her  heart  was  being  slowly  unrolled 
before  him,  and  he  would  wait  until  it  was  all  bare. 

"Now,"  she  continued,  "the  case  is  reversed,  and 
you  want  me  to  do  something  which  I  know  will  hurt 
me." 

"But  you  love  him,  Kate?" 

"  Yes — that  is  the  worst  part  of  it  all,"  she  answered 
with  a  stifled  sob — "yes,  I  love  him."  She  lifted  her 
self  higher  on  the  cushions  and  put  her  beautiful  arms 
above  her  head,  her  eyes  looking  into  space  as  if  she 
was  trying  to  solve  the  problem  of  what  her  present 
resolve  would  mean  to  both  herself  and  Harry. 

St.  George  began  again:  "And  you  remember 
how " 

She  turned  impatiently  and  dropped  one  hand  until 
it  rested  on  his  own.  He  thought  he  had  never  seen 
her  look  so  lovely  and  never  so  unhappy.  Then  she 

128 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

said  in  pleading  tones — her  eyes  blinded  by  half- 
restrained  tears: 

"Don't  ask  me  to  remember,  dear  Uncle  George — 
help  me  to  forget!  You  can  do  no  kinder  thing  for 
both  of  us." 

"But  think  of  your  whole  future  happiness,  Kate 
— think  how  important  it  is  to  you — to  Harry — to 
everybody — that  you  should  not  shut  him  out  of  your 
life." 

"I  have  thought!  God  knows  I  have  thought  until 
sometimes  I  think  I  shall  go  mad.  He  first  breaks 
his  promise  about  drinking  and  I  forgive  him;  then 
he  yields  to  a  sudden  impulse  and  behaves  like  a  mad 
man  and  you  ask  me  to  forgive  him  again.  He  never 
once  thinks  of  me,  nor  of  my  humiliation!"  Her  lips 
were  quivering,  but  her  voice  rang  clear. 

"He  thinks  of  nothing  else  but  you,"  he  pleaded. 
"  Let  your  heart  work — don't  throw  him  into  the  street 
as  his  father  has  done.  He  loves  you  so." 

"I — throw  him  in  the  street!  He  has  thrown  me 
— mortified  me  before  everybody — behaved  like  a — 
No, — I  can't — I  won't  discuss  it!" 

"May  I " 

"No — not  another  word.  I  love  you  too  much  to 
let  this  come  between  us.  Let  us  talk  of  something 
else — anything — anything." 

The  whole  chart  of  her  heart  had  been  unrolled. 
Her  head  and  not  her  heart  was  dominant.  He  felt, 
moreover,  that  no  argument  of  his  would  be  of  any  use. 
Time  might  work  out  the  solution,  but  this  he  could 

129 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

not  hasten.  Nor,  if  the  truth  be  told,  did  he  blame 
her.  It  was,  from  the  girl's  point  of  view,  most  un 
fortunate,  of  course,  that  the  two  calamities  of  Harry's 
drunkenness  and  the  duel  had  come  so  close  together. 
Perhaps — and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  weak 
ened  before  her  tears — perhaps  if  he  had  thrown  the 
case  of  pistols  out  of  the  window,  sent  one  man  to  his 
father  and  the  other  back  to  Kennedy  Square,  it 
might  all  have  been  different — but  then  again,  could 
this  have  been  done,  and  if  it  had  been,  would  not 
all  have  to  be  done  over  again  the  next  day  ?  At  last 
he  asked  hopelessly: 

"  Have  you  no  message  for  Harry  ?  " 

"None,"  she  answered  resolutely. 

"  And  you  will  not  see  him  ?  " 

"No — we  can  never  heal  wounds  by  keeping  them 
open."  This  came  calmly,  and  as  if  she  had  made  up 
her  mind,  and  in  so  determined  a  tone  that  he  saw  it 
meant  an  end  to  the  interview. 

He  rose  from  his  seat  and  without  another  word 
turned  toward  the  door.  She  gained  her  feet  slowly, 
as  if  the  very  movement  caused  her  pain;  put  her 
arms  around  his  neck,  kissed  him  on  the  cheek,  fol 
lowed  him  to  the  door,  waved  her  hand  to  him  as  she 
watched  him  pick  his  way  across  the  square,  and  threw 
herself  on  her  lounge  in  an  agony  of  tears. 

That  night  St.  George  and  Harry  sat  by  the  smoul 
dering  wood  fire;  the  early  spring  days  were  warm  and 
joyous,  but  the  nights  were  still  cool.  The  boy  sat 

130 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

hunched  up  in  his  chair,  his  face  drawn  into  lines  from 
the  anxiety  of  the  past  week;  his  mind  absorbed  in 
the  story  that  St.  George  had  brought  from  the  Sey 
mour  house.  As  in  all  ardent  temperaments,  these 
differences  with  Kate,  which  had  started  as  a  spark, 
had  now  developed  into  a  conflagration  which  was 
burning  out  his  heart.  His  love  for  Kate  was  not  a 
part  of  his  life — it  was  all  of  his  life.  He  was  ready 
now  for  any  sacrifice,  no  matter  how  humiliating. 
He  would  go  down  on  his  knees  to  his  father  if  she 
wished  it.  He  would  beg  Willits's  pardon — he  would 
abase  himself  in  any  way  St.  George  should  suggest. 
He  had  done  what  he  thought  was  right,  and  he  would 
do  it  over  again  under  like  circumstances,  but  he 
would  grovel  at  Kate's  feet  and  kiss  the  ground  she 
stepped  on  if  she  required  it  of  him. 

St.  George,  who  had  sat  quiet,  examining  closely 
the  backs  of  his  finely  modelled  hands  as  if  to  find 
some  solution  of  the  difficulty  written  in  their  delicate 
articulated  curves,  heard  his  outburst  in  silence.  Now 
and  then  he  would  call  to  Todd,  who  was  neyer  out 
of  reach  of  his  voice — no  matter  what  the  hour — to 
replenish  the  fire  or  snuff  the  candles,  but  he  answered 
only  in  nods  and  monosyllables  to  Harry.  One  sug 
gestion  only  of  the  heart-broken  lover  seemed  to 
promise  any  result,  and  that  was  his  making  it  up 
with  his  father  as  his  mother  had  suggested.  This 
wall  being  broken  down,  and  Willits  no  longer  an  in 
valid,  perhaps  Kate  would  see  matters  in  a  different 
and  more  favorable  light. 

131 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"But  suppose  father  doesn't  send  for  me,  Uncle 
George,  what  will  I  do  then?" 

"Well,  he  is  your  father,  Harry." 

"And  you  think  then  I  had  better  go  home  and 
have  it  out  with  him?" 

St.  George  hesitated.  He  himself  would  have  seen 
Rutter  in  Hades  before  he  would  have  apologized  to 
him.  In  fact  his  anger  choked  him  so  every  time  he 
thought  of  the  brutal  and  disgraceful  scene  he  had 
witnessed  when  the  boy  had  been  ordered  from  his 
home,  that  he  could  hardly  get  his  breath.  But  then 
Kate  was  not  his  sweetheart,  much  as  he  loved  her. 

"  I  don't  know,  Harry.  I  am  not  his  son,"  he  an 
swered  in  an  undecided  way.  Then  something  the 
boy's  mother  had  said  rose  in  his  mind:  "  Didn't  your 
mother  say  that  your  father's  loneliness  without  you 
was  having  its  effect  ? — and  wasn't  her  advice  to  wait 
until  he  should  send  for  you?" 

"Yes— that  was  about  it." 

"Well,  your  mother  would  know  best.  Put  that 
question  to  her  next  time  she  comes  in — I'm  not  com 
petent  to  answer  it.  And  now  let  us  go  to  bed — you 
are  tired  out,  and  so  am  I." 


132 


CHAPTER  IX 

Mysterious  things  are  happening  in  Kennedy  Square. 
Only  the  very  wisest  men  know  what  it  is  all  about 
— black  Moses  for  one,  who  tramps  the  brick  walks 
and  makes  short  cuts  through  the  dirt  paths,  carrying 
his  tin  buckets  and  shouting:  "Po'  ole  Moses — po' 
ole  fellah!  O-Y-S-T-E-R-S !  O-Y-STERS!"  And 
Bobbins,  the  gardener,  who  raked  up  last  year's  au 
tumn  leaves  and  either  burned  them  in  piles  or 
spread  them  on  the  flower-beds  as  winter  blank 
ets.  And,  of  course,  Mockburn,  the  night  watch 
man:  nothing  ever  happens  in  and  around  Kennedy 
Square  that  Mockburn  doesn't  know  of.  Many  a 
time  has  he  helped  various  unsteady  gentlemen  up 
the  steps  of  their  houses  and  stowed  them  carefully 
and  noiselessly  away  inside,  only  to  begin  his  rounds 
again,  stopping  at  every  corner  to  drone  out  his  "  All's 
we-1-1!"  a  welcome  cry,  no  doubt,  to  the  stowaways, 
but  a  totally  unnecessary  piece  of  information  to  the 
inhabitants,  nothing  worse  than  a  tippler's  tumble 
having  happened  in  the  forty  years  of  the  old  watch 
man's  service. 

I,  of  course,  am  in  the  secret  of  the  mysterious 
happenings  and  have  been  for  more  years  than  I  care 
to  admit,  but  then  I  go  ten  better  than  Mockburn. 

133 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

And  so  would  you  be  in  the  secret  had  you  watched 
the  process  as  closely  as  I  have  done. 

It  is  always  the  same! 

First  the  crocuses  peep  out — dozens  of  crocuses. 
Then  a  spread  of  tulips  makes  a  crazy-quilt  of  a  flower 
bed;  next  the  baby  buds,  their  delicate  green  toes 
tickled  by  the  south  wind,  break  into  laughter.  Then 
the  stately  magnolias  step  free  of  their  pods,  their  satin 
leaves  falling  from  their  alabaster  shoulders — grandes 
dames  these  magnolias !  And  then  there  is  no  stopping 
it:  everything  is  let  loose;  blossoms  of  peach,  cherry, 
and  pear;  flowers  of  syringa — bloom  of  jasmine,  honey 
suckle,  and  Virginia  creeper;  bridal  wreath  in  flowers 
of  white  and  wistaria  in  festoons  of  purple. 

Then  come  the  roses — millions  of  roses;  on  single 
stalks;  in  clusters,  in  mobs;  rushing  over  summer- 
houses,  scaling  fences,  swarming  up  trellises — a  riot 
ous,  unruly,  irresistible,  and  altogether  lovable  lot 
these  roses  when  they  break  loose! 

And  the  birds!  What  a  time  they  are  having — 
thrush,  bobolinks,  blackbirds,  nightingales,  wood 
peckers,  little  pee-wees,  all  fluttering,  skimming,  chirp 
ing;  bursting  their  tiny  throats  for  the  very  joy  of  liv 
ing.  And  they  are  all  welcome — and  it  wouldn't 
make  any  difference  to  them  if  they  hadn't  been;  they 
would  have  risked  it  anyway,  so  tempting  are  the  shady 
paths  and  tangled  arbors  and  wide-spreading  elms 
and  butternuts  of  Kennedy  Square. 

Soon  the  skies  get  over  weeping  for  the  lost  winter 
and  dry  their  eyes,  and  the  big,  warm,  happy  sun  sails 

134 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

over  the  tree-tops  or  drops  to  sleep,  tired  out,  behind  the 
old  Seymour  house,  and  the  girls  come  out  in  their 
white  dresses  and  silk  sashes  and  the  gallants  in  their 
nankeens  and  pumps  and  the  old  life  of  out-of-doors 
begins  once  more. 

And  these  are  not  the  only  changes  that  the  coming 
of  spring  has  wrought.  What  has  been  going  on  deep 
down  in  the  tender,  expectant  hearts  of  root  and  bulb, 
eager  for  expression,  had  been  at  work  in  Harry's  own 
temperament.  The  sunshine  of  St.  George's  com 
panionship  has  already  had  its  effect;  the  boy  is 
thawing  out;  his  shrinking  shyness,  born  of  his  recent 
trouble,  is  disappearing  like  a  morning  frost.  He  is 
again  seen  at  the  club,  going  first  under  St.  George's 
lee  and  then  on  his  own  personal  footing. 

The  Chesapeake,  so  St.  George  had  urged  upon 
him,  was  the  centre  of  news — the  headquarters,  really, 
of  the  town,  where  not  only  the  current  happenings 
and  gossip  of  Kennedy  Square  were  discussed,  but 
that  of  the  country  at  large.  While  the  bald-heads, 
of  course,  would  be  canvassing  the  news  from  Mexico, 
which  was  just  beginning  to  have  an  ugly  look,  or 
having  it  out,  hammer  and  tongs,  over  the  defeat  of 
Henry  Clay,  to  which  some  rabid  politicians  had  never 
become  reconciled,  the  younger  gentry— men  of  Har 
ry's  own  tastes — would  be  deploring  the  poor  showing 
the  ducks  were  making,  owing  to  the  up-river  freshets 
which  had  spoiled  the  wild  celery;  or  recounting  the 
doings  at  Mrs.  Cheston's  last  ball;  or  the  terrapin 

135 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

supper  at  Mr.  Kennedy's,  the  famous  writer;  or  per 
haps  bemoaning  the  calamity  which  had  befallen  some 
fellow  member  who  had  just  found  seven  bottles  out 
of  ten  of  his  most  precious  port  corked  and  worthless. 
But  whatever  the  topics,  or  whoever  took  sides  in  their 
discussion,  none  of  it,  so  St.  George  argued,  could  fail 
to  interest  a  young  fellow-  just  entering  upon  the  wider 
life  of  a  man  of  the  world,  and  one,  of  all  others,  who 
needed  constant  companionship.  Then  again,  by 
showing  himself  frequently  within  its  walls,  Harry 
would  become  better  known  and  better  liked. 

That  he  was  ineligible  for  membership,  being  years 
too  young,  and  that  his  continued  presence,  even  as 
a  guest,  was  against  the  rules,  did  not  count  in  his 
case,  or  if  it  did  count,  no  member,  in  view  of  what  the 
lad  had  suffered,  was  willing  to  raise  the  question. 
Indeed,  St.  George,  in  first  introducing  him,  had  re 
ferred  to  "my  friend,  Mr.  Rutter,"  as  an  "out  of  town 
guest/*  laughing  as  he  did  so,  everybody  laughing  in 
return,  and  so  it  had  gone  at  that. 

At  first  Harry  had  dreaded  meeting  his  father's  and 
his  uncle's  friends,  most  of  whom,  he  fancied,  might 
be  disposed  to  judge  him  too  harshly.  But  St.  George 
had  shut  his  ears  to  every  objection,  insisting  that  the 
club  was  a  place  where  a  man  could  be  as  independent 
as  he  pleased,  and  that  as  his  guest  he  would  be  entitled 
to  every  consideration. 

The  boy  need  not  have  been  worried.  Almost  every 
member,  young  and  old,  showed  by  his  manner  or  some 
little  act  of  attention  that  their  sympathies  were  with 

136 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

the  exile.  While  a  few  strait-laced  old  Quakers  main 
tained  that  it  was  criminal  to  blaze  away  at  your 
fellow-man  with  the  firm  intention  of  blowing  the 
top  of  his  head  off,  and  that  Harry  should  have  been 
hung  had  Willits  died,  there  were  others  more  discern 
ing — and  they  were  largely  in  the  majority — who  stood 
up  for  the  lad  however  much  they  deplored  the  cause 
of  his  banishment.  Harry,  they  argued,  had  in  his 
brief  career  been  an  unbroken  colt,  and  more  or  less 
dissipated,  but  he  at  least  had  not  shown  the  white 
feather.  Boy  as  he  was,  he  had  faced  his  antagonist 
with  the  coolness  of  a  duellist  of  a  score  of  encounters, 
letting  Willits  fire  straight  at  him  without  so  much  as 
the  wink  of  an  eyelid ;  and,  when  it  was  all  over,  had  been 
man  enough  to  nurse  his  victim  back  to  consciousness. 
Moreover — and  this  counted  much  in  his  favor — he 
had  refused  to  quarrel  with  his  irate  father,  or  even 
answer  him.  "  Behaved  himself  like  a  thoroughbred, 
as  he  is,"  Dorsey  Sullivan,  a  famous  duellist,  had  re 
marked  in  recounting  the  occurrence  to  a  non-witness. 
"  And  I  must  say,  sir,  that  Talbot  served  him  a  scurvy 
trick,  and  I  don't  care  who  hears  me  say  it."  Further 
more — and  this  made  a  great  impression — that  rather 
than  humiliate  himself,  the  boy  had  abandoned  the 
comforts  of  his  palatial  home  at  Moorlands  and  was 
at  the  moment  occupying  a  small,  second-story  back 
room  (all,  it  is  true,  Gentleman  George  could  give 
him),  where  he  was  to  be  found  any  hour  of  the  day 
or  night  that  his  uncle  needed  him  in  attendance  upon 
that  prince  of  good  fellows. 

137 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

One  other  thing  that  counted  in  his  favor,  and  this 
was  conclusive  with  the  Quakers — and  the  club  held 
not  a  few — was  that  no  drop  of  liquor  of  any  kind  had 
passed  the  boy's  lips  since  the  eventful  night  when 
St.  George  prepared  the  way  for  their  first  reconcilia 
tion. 

Summed  up,  then,  whatever  Harry  had  been  in  the 
past,  the  verdict  at  the  present  speaking  was  that  he 
was  a  brave,  tender-hearted,  truthful  fellow  who,  in  the 
face  of  every  temptation,  had  kept  his  word.  More 
over,  it  was  never  forgotten  that  he  was  Colonel  Tal- 
bot  Rutter's  only  son  and  heir,  so  that  no  matter  what 
the  boy  did,  or  how  angry  the  old  autocrat  might  be, 
it  could  only  be  a  question  of  time  before  his  father 
must  send  for  him  and  everything  at  Moorlands  go 
on  as  before. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  glorious  never-to-be-forgotten 
spring  days,  then,  a  week  or  more  after  St.  George  had 
given  up  the  fight  with  Kate — a  day  which  Harry  re 
membered  all  the  rest  of  his  life — that  he  and  his  uncle 
left  the  house  to  spend  the  afternoon,  as  was  now  their 
custom,  at  the  Chesapeake.  The  two  had  passed  the 
early  hours  of  the  day  at  the  Relay  House  fishing  for 
gudgeons,  the  dogs  scampering  the  hills,  and  haying 
changed  their  clothes  for  something  cooler,  had  entered 
the  park  by  the  gate  opposite  the  Temple  Mansion,  as 
being  nearest  to  the  club;  a  path  Harry  loved,  for 
he  and  Kate  had  often  stepped  it  together — and  then 
again,  it  was  the  shortest  cut  to  her  house. 

138 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

As  the  beauty  and  quiet  of  the  place  with  its  mottling 
of  light  and  shade  took  possession  of  him  he  slack 
ened  his  pace,  lagging  a  little  behind  his  uncle,  and 
began  to  look  about  him,  drinking  in  the  loveliness  of 
the  season.  The  very  air  breathed  tenderness,  peace, 
and  comfort.  Certainly  his  father's  heart  must  be 
softening  toward  him;  surely  his  bitterness  could  not 
last.  No  word,  it  is  true,  had  yet  come  to  him  from 
Moorlands,  though  only  the  week  before  his  mother 
had  been  in  to  see  him,  bringing  him  news  of  his 
father  and  what  her  son's  absence  had  meant  to  every 
one,  old  Alec  especially.  She  had  not,  she  said,  re 
vived  the  subject  of  the  boy's  apology;  she  had 
thought  it  better  to  wait  for  the  proper  opportunity, 
which  might  come  any  day,  but  certain  it  was  that  his 
father  was  most  unhappy,  for  he  would  shut  himself 
up  hours  at  a  time  in  his  library,  locking  the  door  and 
refusing  to  open  it,  no  matter  who  knocked,  except 
to  old  John  Gorsuch,  his  man  of  business.  She  had 
also  heard  him  tossing  on  his  bed  at  night,  or  walking 
about  his  room  muttering  to  himself. 

Did  these  things,  he  wondered  on  this  bright  spring 
morning,  mean  a  final  reconciliation,  or  was  he,  after 
all,  to  be  doomed  to  further  disappointment?  Days 
had  passed  since  his  mother  had  assured  him  of  this 
change  in  his  father,  and  still  no  word  had  come  from 
him.  Had  he  at  last  altered  his  mind,  or,  worse  still, 
had  his  old  obstinacy  again  taken  possession  of  him, 
hardening  his  heart  so  that  he  would  never  relent? 
And  so.  with  his  mind  as  checkered  as  the  shadow- 

139 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

flecked  path  on  which  they  stepped,  he  pursued  his 
way  beneath  the  wide-spreading  trees. 

When  the  two  had  crossed  the  street  St.  George's 
eye  rested  upon  a  group  on  the  sidewalk  of  the  club. 
The  summer  weather  generally  emptied  the  coffee- 
room  of  most  of  its  habitues,  sending  many  of  them  to 
the  easy-chairs  on  the  sprinkled  pavement,  one  or  two 
tipped  back  against  the  trees,  or  to  the  balconies  and 
front  steps.  With  his  arm  in  Harry's  he  passed  from 
one  coterie  to  another  in  the  hope  that  he  might  catch 
some  word  which  would  be  interesting  enough  to  in 
duce  him  to  fill  one  of  the  chairs,  even  for  a  brief  half- 
hour,  but  nothing  reached  his  ears  except  politics  and 
crops,  and  he  cared  for  neither.  Harding — the  pessi 
mist  of  the  club — a  man  who  always  had  a  grievance 
(and  this  time  with  reason,  for  the  money  stringency 
was  becoming  more  acute  every  day),  tried  to  beguile 
him  into  a  seat  beside  him,  but  he  shook  his  head. 
He  knew  all  about  Harding,  and  wanted  none  of  his 
kind  of  talk — certainly  not  to-day. 

"Think  of  it!"  he  had  heard  the  growler  say  to 
Judge  Pancoast  as  he  was  about  to  pass  his  chair — 
"  the  Patapsco  won't  give  me  a  cent  to  move  my  crops, 
and  I  hear  all  the  others  are  in  the  same  fix.  You 
can't  get  a  dollar  on  a  house  and  lot  except  at  a  fright 
ful  rate  of  interest.  I  tell  you  everything  is  going  to 
ruin.  How  the  devil  do  you  get  on  without  money, 
Temple?"  He  was  spread  out  in  his  seat,  his  legs 
apart,  his  fat  face  turned  up,  his  small  fox  eyes  fixed 
on  St.  George. 

140 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"I  don't  get  on,"  remarked  St.  George  with  a  dry 
smile.  He  was  still  standing.  "Why  do  you  ask?" 
Money  rarely  troubled  St.  George;  such  small  sums 
as  he  possessed  were  hived  in  this  same  Patapsco 
Bank,  but  the  cashier  had  never  refused  to  honor  one 
of  his  checks  as  long  as  he  had  any  money  in  their 
vaults,  and  he  didn't  think  they  would  begin  now. 
"Queer  question  for  you  to  ask,  Harding"  (and  a 
trifle  underbred,  he  thought,  one's  private  affairs  not 
being  generally  discussed  at  a  club).  "Why  does  it 
interest  you  ?  " 

"Well,  you  always  say  you  despise  money  and  yet 
you  seem  happy  and  contented,  well  dressed,  well 
groomed" — here  he  wheeled  St.  George  around  to  look 
at  his  back — "yes,  got  on  one  of  your  London  coats — 
Hello,  Harry! — glad  to  see  you,"  and  he  held  out  his 
hand  to  the  boy.  *  But  really,  St.  George,  aren't 
you  a  little  worried  over  the  financial  outlook  ?  John 
Gorsuch  says  we  are  going  to  have  trouble,  and  John 
knows." 

"No"— drawled  St.   George— "I'm  not  worried." 

"And  you  don't  think  we're  going  to  have  another 
smash-up?"  puffed  Harding. 

"No,"  said  St.  George,  edging  his  way  toward  the 
steps  of  the  club  as  he  spoke.  He  was  now  entirely 
through  with  Harding;  his  financial  forebodings  were 
as  distasteful  to  him  as  his  comments  on  his  clothes 
and  bank  account. 

"  But  you'll  have  a  julep,  won't  you  ?  I've  just  sent 
John  for  them.  Don't  go — sit  down.  Here,  John, 

take  Mr.  Temple's  order  for " 

141 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"No,  Harding,  thank  you."  The  crushed  ice  in  the 
glass  was  no  cooler  nor  crisper  than  St.  George's  tone. 
"Harry  and  I  have  been  broiling  in  the  sun  all  the 
morning  and  we  are  going  to  go  where  it  is  cool." 

"But  it's  cool  here,"  Harding  called  after  him, 
struggling  to  his  feet  in  the  effort  to  detain  him.  There 
was  really  no  one  in  the  club  he  liked  better  than  St. 
George. 

"No — we'll  try  it  inside,"  and  with  a  courteous 
wave  of  his  hand  and  a  feeling  of  relief  in  his  heart, 
he  and  Harry  kept  on  their  way. 

He  turned  to  mount  the  steps  when  the  sudden 
pushing  back  of  all  the  chairs  on  the  sidewalk  at 
tracted  his  attention.  Two  ladies  were  picking  their 
way  across  the  street  in  the  direction  of  the  club. 
These,  on  closer  inspection,  proved  to  be  Miss  La- 
vinia  Clendenning  and  her  niece,  Sue  Dorsey,  who 
had  been  descried  in  the  offing  a  few  minutes  before 
by  the  gallants  on  the  curbstone,  and  who  at  first  had 
been  supposed  to  be  heading  for  Mrs.  Pancoast's  front 
steps  some  distance  away,  until  the  pair,  turning 
sharply,  had  borne  down  upon  the  outside  chairs  with 
all  sails  set — (Miss  Clendenning's  skirts  were  of  the 
widest) — a  shift  of  canvas  which  sent  every  man  to 
his  feet  with  a  spring. 

Before  St.  George  could  reach  the  group,  which  he 
did  in  advance  of  Harry,  who  held  back — both  ladies 
being  intimate  friends  of  Kate's — old  Captain  War- 
field,  the  first  man  to  gain  his  feet — very  round  and 
fat  was  the  captain  and  very  red  in  the  face  (1812  Port) 
— was  saying  with  his  most  courteous  bow: 

142 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  But,  my  dear  Miss  Lavinia,  you  have  not  as  yet 
told  us  to  what  we  are  indebted  for  this  mark  of  your 
graciousness ;  and  Sue,  my  dear,  you  grow  more  like 
your  dear  mother  every  day.  Why  are  you  two  angels 
abroad  at  this  hour,  and  what  can  we  do  for  you?" 

"To  the  simple  fact,  my  dear  captain/'  retorted 
the  irresistible  spinster,  spreading  her  skirts  the  wider, 
both  arms  akimbo — her  thin  fingers  acting  as  clothes 
pins,  "  that  Sue  is  to  take  her  dancing  lesson  next  door, 
and  as  I  can't  fly  in  the  second-story  window,  having 
mislaid  my  wings,  I  must  use  my  feet  and  disturb 
everybody.  No,  gentlemen — don't  move — I  can  pass." 

The  captain  made  so  profound  a  salaam  in  reply 
that  his  hat  grazed  the  bricks  of  the  sidewalk. 

"  Let  me  hunt  for  them,  Miss  Lavinia.  I  know  where 
they  are!"  he  exclaimed,  with  his  hand  on  his  heart. 

"Where?"  she  asked  roguishly,  twisting  her  head 
on  one  side  with  the  movement  of  a  listening  bird. 

"In  heaven,  my  lady,  where  they  are  waiting  your 
arrival,"  he  answered,  with  another  profound  sweep 
of  his  hand  and  dip  of  his  back,  his  bald  head  glisten 
ing  in  the  sunlight  as  he  stooped  before  her. 

"  Then  you  will  never  get  near  them,"  she  returned 
with  an  equally  low  curtsy  and  a  laugh  that  nearly 
shook  her  side  curls  loose. 

St.  George  was  about  to  step  the  closer  to  take  a 
hand  in  the  badinage — he  and  the  little  old  maid  were 
forever  crossing  swords — when  her  eyes  fell  upon  him. 
Instantly  her  expression  changed.  She  was  one  of  the 
women  who  had  blamed  him  for  not  stopping  the  duel, 

143 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

and  had  been  on  the  lookout  for  him  for  days  to  air 
her  views  in  person. 

"  So  you  are  still  in  town,  are  you  ?  "  she  remarked 
frigidly  in  lowered  tones.  "I  thought  you  had  taken 
that  young  firebrand  down  to  the  Eastern  Shore  to 
cool  off." 

St.  George  frowned  meaningly  in  the  effort  to  ap 
prise  her  ladyship  that  Harry  was  within  hearing  dis 
tance,  but  Miss  Lavinia  either  did  not,  or  would  not, 
understand. 

"  Two  young  boobies,  that's  what  they  are,  breaking 
their  hearts  over  each  other,"  she  rattled  on,  gath 
ering  the  ends  of  her  cape  the  closer.  "Both  of 
them  ought  to  be  spanked  and  put  to  bed.  Get  them 
into  each  other's  arms  just  as  quick  as  you  can.  As 
for  Talbot  Rutter,  he's  the  biggest  fool  of  the  three, 
or  was  until  Annie  Rutter  got  hold  of  him.  Now  I 
hear  he  is  willing  to  let  Harry  come  back,  as  if  that 
would  do  any  good.  It's  Kate  who  must  be  looked 
after;  that  Scotch  blood  in  her  veins  makes  her  as 
pig-headed  as  her  father.  No — I  don't  want  your  arm, 
sir — get  out  of  my  way." 

If  the  courtiers  heard — and  half  of  them  did — they 
neither  by  word  or  expression  conveyed  that  fact  to 
Harry  or  St.  George.  It  was  not  intended  for  their 
ears,  and,  therefore,  was  not  their  property.  With 
still  more  profound  salutations  from  everybody,  the 
three  bareheaded  men  escorted  them  to  the  next  stoop, 
the  fourth  going  ahead  to  see  that  the  door  was  prop 
erly  opened,  and  so  the  ladies  passed  on,  up  and  inside 

144 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

the  house.  This  over,  the  group  resumed  its  normal 
condition  on  the  sidewalk,  the  men  regaining  their 
seats  and  relighting  their  cigars  (no  gentleman  ever 
held  one  in  evidence  when  ladies  were  present) — fresh 
orders  being  given  to  the  servants  for  the  several  in 
terrupted  mixtures  with  which  the  coterie  were  wont 
to  regale  themselves. 

Harry,  who  had  stood  with  shoulders  braced  against 
a  great  tree  on  the  sidewalk,  had  heard  every  word  of 
the  old  maid's  outburst,  and  an  unrestrained  burst 
of  joy  had  surged  up  in  his  heart.  His  father  was 
coming  round!  Yes — the  tide  was  turning — it  would 
not  be  long  before  Kate  would  be  in  his  arms! 


CHAPTER  X 

St.  George  held  no  such  sanguine  view,  although 
he  made  no  comment.  In  fact  the  outbreak  had 
rather  depressed  him.  He  knew  something  of  Tal- 
bot's  stubbornness  and  did  not  hope  for  much  in  that 
direction,  nor,  if  the  truth  be  told,  did  he  hope  much 
in  Kate's.  Time  alone  could  heal  her  wounds,  and 
time  in  the  case  of  a  young  girl,  mistress  of  herself, 
beautiful,  independent,  and  rich,  might  contain  many 
surprises. 

It  was  with  a  certain  sense  of  relief,  therefore,  that 
he  again  sought  the  inside  of  the  club.  Its  restful 
quiet  would  at  least  take  his  mind  from  the  one  sub 
ject  which  seemed  to  pursue  him  and  which  Miss 
Clendenning's  positive  and,  as  he  thought,  inconsider 
ate  remarks  had  so  suddenly  revived. 

Before  he  had  reached  the  top  step  his  face  broke 
out  into  a  broad  smile.  Instantly  his  spirits  rose. 
Standing  in  the  open  front  door,  with  outstretched 
hand,  was  the  man  of  all  others  he  would  rather 
have  seen — Richard  Horn,  the  inventor. 

"Ah,  St.  George,  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you!"  cried 
Richard.  "I  have  been  looking  for  you  all  the  af 
ternoon  and  only  just  a  moment  ago  got  sight  of 
you  on  the  sidewalk.  I  should  certainly  have  stepped 

146 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

over  to  your  house  and  looked  you  up  if  you  hadn't 
come,  I've  got  the  most  extraordinary  thing  to  read 
to  you  that  you  have  ever  listened  to  in  the  whole 
course  of  your  life.  How  well  you  look,  and  what  a 
fine  color  you  have,  and  you  too,  Harry.  You  are  in 
luck,  my  boy.  Fd  like  to  stay  a  month  with  Temple 
myself." 

"  Make  it  a  year,  Richard/'  cried  St.  George,  rest 
ing  his  hand  affectionately  on  the  inventor's  shoulder. 
"There  isn't  a  chair  in  my  house  that  isn't  happier 
when  you  sit  in  it.  What  have  you  discovered? — 
some  new  whirligig?" 

"No,  a  poem.  Eighteen  to  twenty  stanzas  of  glo 
rious  melody  imprisoned  in  type." 

"One  of  your  own?"  laughed  St.  George — one  of 
his  merry  vibrating  laughs  that  made  everybody  hap 
pier  about  him.  The  sight  of  Richard  had  swept  all 
the  cobwebs  out  of  his  brain. 

"No,  you  trifler! — one  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe's.  None 
of  your  scoffing,  sir!  You  may  go  home  in  tears  be 
fore  I  am  through  with  you.  This  way,  both  of  you." 

The  three  had  entered  the  coffee-room  now,  Rich 
ard's  arm  through  St.  George's,  Harry  following  close. 
The  inventor  drew  out  the  chairs  one  after  another, 
and  when  they  were  all  three  seated  took  a  missive 
from  his  pocket  and  spread  it  out  on  his  knee,  St. 
George  and  Harry  keeping  their  eyes  on  his  every 
movement. 

"  Here's  a  letter,  St.  George" — Richard's  voice  now 
fell  to  a  serious  key — "  which  I  have  just  received  from 

147 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

your  friend  and  mine,  Mr.  N.  P.  Willis.  In  it  he  sends 
me  this  most  wonderful  poem  cut  from  his  paper — 
the  Mirror — and  published,  I  discover  to  my  astonish 
ment,  some  months  back.  I  am  going  to  read  it  to 
you  if  you  will  permit  me.  It  certainly  is  a  most  re 
markable  production.  The  wonder  to  me  is  that  I 
haven't  seen  it  before.  It  is  by  that  Mr.  Poe  you  met 
at  my  house  some  years  ago — you  remember  him? — • 
a  rather  sad-looking  man  with  big  head  and  deep 
eyes?"  Temple  nodded  in  answer,  and  Harry's  eyes 
glistened:  Poe  was  one  of  his  university's  gods. 
"Just  let  me  read  to  you  what  Willis  says" — here  he 
glanced  down  the  letter  sheet:  "'  No  thing,  I  assure 
you,  my  dear  Horn,  has  made  so  great  a  stir  in  literary 
circles  as  this  "Raven"  of  Poe's.  I  am  sending  it  to 
you  knowing  that  you  are  interested  in  the  man.  If 
I  do  not  mistake  I  first  met  Poe  one  night  at  your 
house.'  And  a  very  extraordinary  night  it  was,  St. 
George,"  said  Richard,  lifting  his  eyes  from  the  sheet. 
"  Poe,  if  you  remember,  read  one  of  his  stories  for  us, 
and  both  Latrobe  and  Kennedy  were  so  charmed  that 
they  talked  of  nothing  else  for  days." 

St.  George  remembered  so  clearly  that  he  could  still 
recall  the  tones  of  Poe's  voice,  and  the  peculiar  lambent 
light  that  flashed  from  out  the  poet's  dark  eyes — the 
light  of  a  black  opal.  He  settled  himself  back  in  his 
chair  to  enjoy  the  treat  the  better.  This  was  the  kind 
of  talk  he  wanted  to-day,  and  Richard  Horn,  of  all 
others,  was  the  man  to  conduct  it. 

The  inventor's  earnestness  and  the  absorbed  look 
148 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

on  St.  George's  and  Harry's  faces,  and  the  fact  that 
Horn  was  about  to  read  aloud,  had  attracted  the  at 
tention  of  several  near-by  members,  who  were  already 
straining  their  ears,  for  no  one  had  Richard's  gift  for 
reading. 

In  low,  clear  tones,  his  voice  rising  in  intensity  as  the 
weird  pathos  of  the  several  stanzas  gripped  his  heart, 
he  unfolded  the  marvellous  drama  until  the  very 
room  seemed  filled  with  the  spirit  of  both  the  man 
and  the  demon.  Every  stanza  in  his  clear  enunciation 
seemed  a  separate  string  of  sombre  pearls,  each  syl 
lable  aglow  with  its  own  inherent  beauty.  When  he 
ceased  it  was  as  if  the  soul  of  some  great  'cello  had 
stopped  vibrating,  leaving  only  the  memory  of  its  mel 
ody.  For  a  few  seconds  no  one  moved  nor  spoke. 
No  one  had  ever  heard  Richard  in  finer  voice  nor  had 
they  ever  listened  to  more  perfect  rhythmic  beauty. 
So  great  was  the  effect  on  the  audience  that  one  old 
habitue*,  in  speaking  of  it  afterward,  insisted  that 
Richard  must  have  seen  the  bird  roosting  over  the 
door,  so  realistic  was  his  rendering. 

Harry  had  listened  with  bated  breath,  absorbing 
every  tone  and  inflection  of  Richard's  yoice.  He  and 
Pee  had  been  members  of  the  same  university,  and 
the  poet  had  always  been  one  of  his  idols — the  man 
of  all  others  he  wanted  most  to  know.  Poe's  former 
room  opening  into  the  corridor  had  invariably  attracted 
him.  He  had  frequently  looked  about  its  bare  walls 
wondering  how  so  great  an  inspiration  could  have 
started  from  such  meagre  surroundings.  He  had, 

149 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

too,  with  the  romantic  imagination  of  a  boy,  pictured 
to  himself  the  kind  of  man  he  was,  his  looks,  voice, 
and  manner,  and  though  he  had  never  seen  the  poet 
in  the  flesh,  somehow  the  tones  of  Richard's  voice  re 
called  to  him  the  very  picture  he  had  conjured  up  in 
his  mind  in  his  boyhood  days. 

St.  George  had  also  listened  intently,  but  the  impres 
sion  was  quite  different  from  the  one  made  on  the 
younger  man.  Temple  thought  only  of  Poe's  despond 
ency,  of  his  striving  for  a  better  and  happier  life;  of 
his  poverty — more  than  once  had  he  gone  down  into 
his  own  pockets  to  relieve  the  poor  fellow's  urgent 
necessities,  and  he  was  still  ready  to  do  it  again — a 
readiness  in  which  he  was  almost  alone,  for  many  of 
the  writer's  earlier  friends  had  of  late  avoided  meet 
ing  him  whenever  he  passed  through  Kennedy  Square. 
Even  Kennedy,  his  life-long  friend,  had  begun  to  look 
upon  him  as  a  hopeless  case. 

This  antipathy  was  also  to  be  found  in  the  club. 
Even  with  the  memory  of  Richard's  voice  in  their  ears 
one  of  the  listeners  had  shrugged  his  shoulders,  remark 
ing  with  a  bitter  laugh  that  musical  as  was  the  poem, 
especially  as  rendered  by  Richard,  it  was,  after  all,  like 
most  of  Poe's  other  manuscripts,  found  in  a  bottle,  or 
more  likely  "a  bottle  found  in  a  manuscript,"  as  that 
crazy  lunatic  couldn't  write  anything  worth  reading 
unless  he  was  half  drunk.  At  which  St.  George  had 
blazed  out: 

"Hush,  Bowdoin!  You  ought  to  be  willing  to  be 
blind  drunk  half  your  time  if  you  could  write  one 

150 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

stanza  of  it!  Please  let  me  have  it,  Richard,"  and  he 
took  the  sheet  from  his  friend's  hand,  that  he  and 
Harry  might  read  it  at  their  leisure  when  they  reached 
home. 

Harry's  blood  had  also  boiled  at  the  rude  thrust. 
While  under  the  spell  of  Richard's  voice  a  cord  in  bis 
own  soul  had  vibrated  as  does  a  glass  globe  when  it 
responds  in  perfect  harmony  to  a  note  from  a  violin. 
He  too  had  a  Lenore  whose  loss  had  wellnigh  broken 
his  heart.  This  in  itself  was  an  indissoluble  bond  be 
tween  them.  Besides,  he  could  understand  the  poet 
as  Alec  and  his  mother  and  his  Uncle  George  under 
stood  himself.  He  had  begun  now  to  love  the  man 
in  his  heart. 

With  his  mind  filled  with  these  thoughts,  his  hun 
ger  for  Kate  aroused  tenfold  by  the  pathos  and  weird 
beauty  of  what  he  had  just  heard,  he  left  the  group  of 
men  who  were  still  discussing  the  man  and  his  verses, 
and  joined  his  uncle  outside  on  the  top  step  of  the 
club's  high  stoop,  from  which  could  be  seen  the  full 
length  of  the  sun-flecked  street  on  which  the  club 
house  stood,  as  well  as  the  park  in  all  its  spring  love 
liness. 

Unconsciously  his  eyes  wandered  across  the  path 
where  Kate's  house  stood.  He  could  see  the  tall  chim 
neys  and  the  slope  of  the  quaint  roof,  and  but  that  the 
foliage  hid  the  lower  part,  could  have  seen  Kate's  own 
windows.  She  was  still  at  home,  he  had  heard,  al 
though  she  was  expected  to  leave  for  the  Red  Sulphur 
any  day. 

151 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Suddenly,  from  away  up  the  street,  past  the  corner 
of  the  park,  there  reached  his  ears  a  low  winding  note, 
which  grew  louder  as  it  turned  the  corner,  followed  by 
the  rattle  of  wheels  and  the  clatter  of  horses'  feet.  He 
leaned  forward  and  craned  his  head  in  the  direction 
of  the  sound,  his  heart  in  his  throat,  the  blood  mounting 
to  his  cheeks.  If  that  was  not  his  father's  horn  it  was 
wonderfully  like  it.  At  the  same  moment  a  coach-and- 
four  swept  in  sight,  driven  by  a  man  in  a  whitey-brown 
coat  and  stiff  furry  hat,  with  two  grooms  behind  and 
a  coachman  next  to  him  on  the  box.  It  was  heading 
straight  for  the  club. 

Evei-y  man  was  on  his  feet. 

"  By  Jove ! — it's  Rutter.  Bowdoin  I — Clayton  f — here 
comes  the  colonel!" 

Again  the  horn  gave  out  a  long  withering,  wiry  note 
ringing  through  the  leaves  and  along  the  brick  pave 
ment,  and  the  next  instant  the  leaders  were  gathered 
up,  the  wheel-horses  hauled  taut,  the  hub  of  the  front 
wheel  of  the  coach  halting  within  an  inch  of  the  horse 
block  of  the  club. 

"Bravo,  Rutter!  Best  whip  in  the  county!  Not 
a  man  in  England  could  have  done  it  better.  Let  me 
help  you  down!" 

The  colonel  shook  his  head  good-humoredly,  rose  in 
his  seat,  shifted  a  bunch  of  violets  to  his  inner  lapel, 
slipped  off  his  driving-coat,  threw  it  across  the  rail, 
dropped  his  whip  in  the  socket,  handed  his  heavy  gloves 
to  his  groom,  and  slid  gracefully  to  the  sidewalk. 
There  he  shook  hands  cordially  with  the  men  nearest 

152 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

him,  excused  himself  for  a  moment  until  he  had  in 
spected  his  off  leader's  forefoot — she  had  picked  up  a 
stone  on  the  way  in  from  Moorlands — patted  the  nigh 
wheel-horse,  stamped  his  own  feet  lustily  as  if  to  be 
sure  he  was  all  there,  and,  with  a  lordly  bow  to  those 
about  him,  slowly  mounted  the  steps  of  the  club. 

Harry  had  already  risen  to  his  feet  and  stood  trem 
bling,  one  hand  clutching  the  iron  railing  that  guarded 
the  marble  steps.  A  great  throb  of  joy  welled  up  in 
his  throat.  His  mother  was  right — the  loneliness  had 
overpowered  his  father;  he  still  loved  him,  and  Miss 
Clendenning's  prediction  was  coming  true!  Not  only 
was  he  willing  to  forgive  him,  but  he  had  come  himself 
to  take  him  home.  He  could  hardly  wait  until  his 
father  reached  his  side,  so  eager  was  he  to  open  his 
arms  and  hands  and  his  lips  in  apology — and  Kate! — 
what  joy  would  be  hers! 

St.  George  had  also  gained  his  feet.  What  had 
brought  the  colonel  into  town,  he  said  to  himself,  and 
in  such  state — and  at  this  hour  of  the  day,  too? 
Could  it  be  that  Harry  was  the  cause? 

"How  were  the  roads,  Talbot?"  he  called  out  in 
his  customary  cheery  tones.  He  would  start  fair, 
anyway. 

The  colonel,  who,  head  down,  had  been  mounting 
the  marble  steps  one  at  a  time,  inspecting  each  slab 
as  he  climbed,  after  the  manner  of  men  thoroughly 
satisfied  with  themselves,  and  who  at  the  same  time 
are  conscious  of  the  effect  of  their  presence  on  those 
about  them,  raised  his  head  and  gazed  in  astonish- 

153 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

ment  at  the  speaker.  Then  his  body  straightened  up 
and  he  came  to  a  stand-still.  He  looked  first  into  St. 
George's  face,  then  into  Harry's,  with  a  cold,  rigid  stare; 
his  lips  shut  tight,  his  head  thrown  back,  his  whole 
frame  stiff  as  an  iron  bar — and  without  a  word  of 
recognition  of  any  kind,  passed  through  the  open  door 
and  into  the  wide  hall.  He  had  cut  both  of  them 
dead. 

Harry  gave  a  half-smothered  cry  of  anguish  and 
turned  to  follow  his  father  into  the  club. 

St.  George,  purple  with  rage,  laid  his  hand  on  the 
boy's  arm,  so  tight  that  the  fingers  sank  into  the  flesh : 
there  were  steel  clamps  inside  these  delicate  palms 
when  occasion  required. 

"  Keep  still,"  he  hissed — "  not  a  word,  no  outburst. 
Stay  here  until  I  come  for  you.  Stop,  Rutter:  stand 
where  you  are!"  The  two  were  abreast  of  each  other 
now.  "  You  dare  treat  your  son  in  that  way  ?  Horn 
— Murdoch — Warfield — all  of  you  come  out  here  I 
What  I've  got  to  say  to  Talbot  Rutter  I  want  you  to 
hear,  and  I  intend  that  not  only  you  but  every  decent 
man  and  woman  in  Kennedy  Square  shall  hear!" 

The  colonel's  lips  quivered  and  his  face  paled,  but 
he  did  not  flinch,  nor  did  his  eyes  drop. 

"You  are  not  a  father,  Talbot — you  are  a  brute! 
There  is  not  a  dog  in  your  kennels  that  would  not  treat 
his  litter  better  than  you  have  treated  Harry!  You 
turned  him  out  in  the  night  without  a  penny  to  his  name; 
you  break  his  mother's  heart;  you  refuse  to  hear  a 
word  he  has  to  say,  and  then  you  have  the  audacity  to 

154 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

pass  him  on  the  steps  of  this  club  where  he  is  my  guest 
— my  guest,  remember — look  him  squarely  in  the  face 
and  ignore  him.  That,  gentlemen,  is  what  Talbot 
Rutter  did  one  minute  ago.  You  have  disgraced  your 
blood  and  your  name  and  you  have  laid  up  for  your 
old  age  untold  misery  and  suffering.  Never,  as  long  as 
I  live,  will  I  speak  to  you  again,  nor  shall  Harry, 
whom  you  have  humiliated!  Hereafter  I  am  his 
father!  Do  you  hear?" 

During  the  whole  outburst  the  colonel  had  not 
moved  a  muscle  of  his  face  nor  had  he  shifted  his 
body  a  quarter  of  an  inch.  He  stood  with  his  back 
to  the  door  through  which  could  be  seen  the  amazed 
faces  of  his  fellow-members — one  hand  tight  shut  be 
hind  his  back,  the  other  loose  by  his  side,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  his  antagonist.  Then  slowly,  one  word  at  a 
time,  as  if  he  had  purposely  measured  the  intervals 
of  speech,  he  said,  in  a  voice  hardly  heard  beyond  the 
door,  so  low  was  it: 

"Are— you— through— St.  George?" 

"Yes,  by  God! — I  am,  and  forever!" 

"Then,  gentlemen" — and  he  waved  his  hand  cour 
teously  to  the  astounded  listeners — "may  I  ask  you 
all  to  join  me?  John,  bring  the  juleps!" 


155 


CHAPTER  XI 

All  the  way  back  to  his  house  St.  George's  wrath 
kept  him  silent.  He  had  rarely  been  so  stirred.  He 
was  not  a  brawler — his  whole  life  had  been  one  of 
peace;  his  whole  ambition  to  be  the  healer  of  differ 
ences,  and  yet  there  were  some  things  he  could  not 
stand.  One  of  these  was  cruelty  to  a  human  being, 
and  Rutter's  public  disowning  of  Harry  was  cruelty 
of  the  most  contemptible  kind.  But  one  explanation 
of  such  an  outrage  was  possible — the  man's  intolerable 
egoism,  added  to  his  insufferable  conceit.  Only  once 
did  Temple  address  Harry,  walking  silently  by  his  side 
under  the  magnolias,  and  then  only  to  remark,  more 
to  himself  than  to  his  companion — "It's  his  damned, 
dirty  pride,  Harry — that's  what  it  is!" 

Harry  also  held  his  peace.  He  had  no  theories 
regarding  his  father's  conduct:  only  facts  confronted 
him,  one  being  that  he  had  purposely  humiliated 
him  before  the  men  who  had  known  him  from  a  boy, 
and  with  whom  his  future  life  must  be  cast.  The  end 
had  come  now.  He  was  adrift  without  a  home.  Even 
Kate  was  lost.  This  last  attack  of  his  father's  would 
widen  the  breach  between  them,  for  she  would  never 
overlook  this  last  stigma  when  she  heard  of  it,  as  she 
certainly  must.  Nobody  would  then  be  left  on  his 

156 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

side  except  his  dear  mother,  the  old  house  servants, 
and  St.  George,  and  of  these  St.  George  alone  could 
be  of  any  service  to  him. 

It  had  all  been  so  horrible  too,  and  so  undeserved — 
worse  than  anything  he  had  ever  dreamed  of;  infi 
nitely  worse  than  the  night  he  had  been  driven  from 
Moorlands.  Never  in  all  his  life  had  he  shown  his 
father  anything  but  obedience  and  respect;  further 
more,  he  had  loved  and  admired  him;  loved  his 
dash  and  vigor;  his  superb  physique  for  a  man  of  his 
years — some  fifty  odd — loved  too  his  sportsmanlike 
qualities — not  a  man  in  the  county  was  his  equal  in 
the  saddle,  and  not  a  man  in  his  own  or  any  other 
county  could  handle  the  ribbons  so  well.  If  his  father 
had  not  agreed  with  him  as  to  when  and  where  he 
should  teach  a  vulgarian  manners,  that  had  been  a 
question  about  which  gentlemen  might  differ,  but  to 
have  treated  him  with  contempt,  to  insult  him  in 
public,  leaving  him  no  chance  to  defend  himself — 
force  him,  really,  into  a  position  which  made  it  im 
possible  for  him  to  strike  back — was  altogether  a 
different  thing,  and  for  that  he  would  never,  never 
forgive  him. 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened  in  the  boy's  mind. 
It  may  have  been  the  shifting  of  a  grain  of  gray  matter 
never  called  into  use  before;  or  it  may  have  been  due 
to  some  stranded  red  corpuscle  which,  dislodged  by 
the  pressure  he  had  lately  been  called  upon  to  endure, 
had  rushed  headlong  through  his  veins  scouring  out 
everything  in  its  way  until  it  reached  his  thinking  ap- 

157 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

paratus.  Whatever  the  cause,  certain  it  was  that  the 
change  in  the  boy's  view  of  life  was  as  instantaneous 
as  it  was  radical. 

And  this  was  quite  possible  when  his  blood  is 
considered.  There  had  been,  it  is  true,  dominating 
tyrants  way  back  in  his  ancestry,  as  well  as  spend 
thrifts,  drunkards,  roysterers,  and  gamesters,  but  so 
far  as  the  records  showed  there  had  never  been  a 
coward.  That  old  fellow  De  Ruyter,  whose  portrait 
hung  at  Moorlands  and  who  might  have  been  his 
father,  so  great  was  the  resemblance,  had,  so  to  speak, 
held  a  shovel  in  one  hand  and  a  sword  in  the  other 
in  the  days  when  he  helped  drown  out  his  own  and 
his  neighbors'  estates  to  keep  the  haughty  don  from 
gobbling  up  his  country.  One  had  but  to  look  into 
Harry's  face  to  be  convinced  that  he  too  would  have 
followed  in  his  footsteps  had  he  lived  in  that  ancestor's 
time. 

It  was  when  the  boy,  smarting  under  his  father's 
insult,  was  passing  under  the  blossoms  of  a  wide- 
spreading  magnolia,  trying  to  get  a  glimpse  of  Kate's 
face,  if  by  any  chance  she  should  be  at  her  window, 
that  this  grain  of  gray  matter,  or  lively  red  corpuscle — 
or  whatever  it  might  have  been — forced  itself  through. 
The  breaking  away  was  slow — little  by  little — as  an 
underground  tunnel  seeks  an  opening — but  the  light 
increased  with  every  thought-stroke,  its  blinding  inten 
sity  becoming  so  fierce  at  last  that  he  came  to  a  halt, 
his  eyes  on  the  ground,  his  whole  body  tense,  his  mind 
in  a  whirl. 

158 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Suddenly  his  brain  acted. 

To  sit  down  and  snivel  would  do  no  good;  to  curse 
his  father  would  be  useless  and  wicked;  to  force  him 
self  on  Kate  sheer  madness.  But — but — BUT — he 
was  twenty-two! — in  perfect  health  and  not  ashamed 
to  look  any  man  in  the  face.  St.  George  loved  him — 
so  did  his  precious  mother,  and  Alec,  and  a  host  of 
others.  Should  he  continue  to  sit  in  ashes,  swaddled 
in  sackcloth — or  should  he  meet  the  situation  like  a 
man  ?  Then  as  his  mental  vision  became  accustomed 
to  the  glare,  two  things  stood  out  clear  in  his  mind — 
to  win  Kate  back,  no  matter  at  what  cost — and  to 
compel  his  father's  respect. 

His  mother  was  the  first  to  near  the  music  of  this 
new  note  of  resolve,  and  she  had  not  long  to  wait. 
She  had  come  to  town  with  the  colonel — indeed  it  was 
at  her  request  that  he  had  ordered  the  coach  instead 
of  coming  in  on  horseback,  as  was  his  custom — and 
was  at  the  moment  quietly  resting  on  St.  George's  big 
sofa. 

"It  is  all  over,  mother,"  Harry  cried  in  a  voice  so 
firm  and  determined  that  his  mother  knew  at  once 
something  unusual  had  happened — "and  you  might 
as  well  make  up  your  mind  to  it — I  have.  Father 
walked  into  the  club  five  minutes  ago,  looked  me 
square  in  the  face,  and  cut  me  dead;  and  he  insulted 
Uncle  George  too,  who  gave  him  the  greatest  dressing 
down  you  ever  heard  in  your  life."  He  had  learned 
another  side  of  his  uncle's  character — one  he  should 

159 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

never  cease  to  be  grateful  for — his  outspoken  defence 
of  him  before  his  equals. 

Mrs.  Rutter  half  rose  from  her  seat  in  blank  aston 
ishment.  She  was  a  frail  little  woman  with  pale-blue 
eyes  and  a  figure  like  a  curl  of  smoke. 

"Your — father — did  not — speak — to — you!"  she  ex 
claimed  excitedly.  "You  say — your  father —  But  how 
dare  he!" 

"But  he  did!"  replied  Harry  in  a  voice  that  showed 
the  incident  still  rankled  in  his  mind — "and  right  in 
the  club,  before  everybody." 

"And  the  other  gentlemen  saw  it?"  She  stood 
erect,  her  delicate  body  tightening  up.  There  was  a 
strain  of  some  old-time  warrior  in  her  blood  that  would 
brook  no  insult  to  her  son. 

"Yes,  half  a  dozen  gentlemen  saw  it.  He  did  it 
purposely — so  they  could  see.  I'll  never  forgive  him 
for  it  as  long  as  I  live.  He  had  no  business  to  treat 
me  so!"  His  voice  choked  as  he  spoke,  but  there  was 
no  note  of  surrender  or  of  fear. 

She  looked  at  him  in  a  helpless  sort  of  way.  "But 
you  didn't  answer  back,  did  you,  my  son?"  This 
came  in  a  tone  as  if  she  feared  to  hear  the  details, 
knowing  the  boy's  temperament  and  his  father's. 

"I  didn't  say  a  word;  Uncle  George  wouldn't  let 
me.  I'm  glad  now  he  stopped  me,  for  I  was  pretty 
mad,  and  I  might  have  said  something  I  would  have 
been  sorry  for."  The  mother  gave  a  sigh  of  relief, 
but  she  did  not  interrupt,  nor  did  she  relax  the  taut- 
ness  of  her  body.  "You  ought  to  have  heard  Uncle 

160 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

George,  though!"  Harry  rushed  on.  "He  told  him 
there  was  not  a  dog  at  Moorlands  who  would  not  have 
treated  his  puppy  better  than  he  had  me — and  another 
thing  he  told  him — and  that  was  that  after  to-day  I 
was  his  son  forever!" 

St.  George  had  been  standing  at  the  front  window 
with  his  back  to  them,  looking  out  upon  the  blossoms. 
At  this  last  outburst  he  turned,  and  said  over  his 
shoulder: 

"Yes — that's  true,  Annie — that's  what  I  said  and 
what  I  mean.  There  is  no  use  wasting  any  more 
time  over  Talbot,  and  I  don't  intend  to." 

"But  Mr.  Rutter  will  get  over  his  temper."  (She 
never  called  him  by  any  other  name.) 

"Then  he  will  have  to  come  here  and  say  so.  I 
shall  never  step  foot  in  his  house  until  he  does,  nor 
will  Harry.  As  to  his  forgiving  Harry — the  boot  is 
on  the  other  leg;  it  is  Talbot,  not  the  boy  h«?  outraged, 
who  must  straighten  out  to-day's  work.  There  was 
not  a  man  who  heard  him  who  was  not  ashamed  of 
him.  Oh! — I  have  no  patience  with  this  sort  of  thing! 
The  only  son  he's  got — his  only  child!  Abominable 
— unforgivable!  And  it  will  haunt  him  to  his  dying 
day!  Poor  as  I  am,  alone  in  the  world  and  without 
a  member  of  my  family  above  ground,  I  would  not 
change  places  with  him.  No — Annie — I  know  how 
you  feel,  and  God  knows  I  have  felt  for  you  all 
these  years,  but  I  tell  you  the  end  has  come!  It's 
finished — over — I  told  him  so  to  his  face,  and  I 
mean  it!" 

161 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

The  slight  body  sank  back  into  her  chair  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  Harry  knelt  beside  her  and 
put  his  arms  about  her.  This  mother,  frail  as  she  was, 
had  always  been  his  refuge  and  comfort:  now  he  must 
do  the  comforting!  (Keep  moving,  old  red  corpuscle, 
there  is  a  lot  of  work  ahead  of  you!) 

"Don't  worry,  you  dear  little  mother,"  he  said 
tenderly.  "I  don't  know  how  it's  coming  out,  but  it 
will  come  out  somehow.  Let  father  go:  Kate  is  the 
only  thing  that  counts  now.  I  don't  blame  her  for 
anything  she  has  done,  and  I  don't  blame  myself 
either.  All  I  know  is  that  everything  has  gone  wrong. 
But,  wrong  or  right,  I'm  going  to  stay  here  just  as  long 
as  Uncle  George  will  let  me.  He's  been  more  of  a 
father  to  me  than  my  own.  It's  you  I  can't  get  along 
without,  you  precious  little  mother,"  and  he  patted  her 
pale  cheeks.  "  Won't  you  come  in  every  day — and 
bring  Alec  too?"  then,  as  if  he  had  not  yet  asked  her 
consent — "You  don't  mind  my  being  here,  do  you?" 

She  drew  his  head  close  to  her  lips  and  kissed  his 
cheek.  "No,  my  son,  I  don't  mind — I'm  glad.  Every 
night  of  my  life  I  thank  my  Maker  that  you  are 
here."  She  raised  her  eyes  to  St.  George,  who  stood 
looking  down  upon  them  both,  and  in  a  voice  barely 
audible,  an  unbidden  sob  choking  her  utterance,  fal 
tered — "It's  only  one  more  proof  of  your  goodness, 
St.  George." 

He  raised  his  hand  in  protest  and  a  faint  smile 
crossed  his  face.  "  Don't  talk  that  way,  Annie." 

"I  will — it's  true.  It  is  a  proof  of  your  goodness. 
162 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

I  have  never  deserved  it.  I  don't  now — but  you  never 
fail  me."  Her  voice  was  clearer  now — her  cheeks,  too, 
had  regained  some  of  their  color.  Harry  listened 
wonderingly,  his  arm  still  around  her. 

"I  couldn't  do  anything  else,  Annie — nobody  could 
under  the  circumstances."  His  voice  had  dropped 
almost  to  a  whisper. 

"  But  it  was  for  me  you  did  it,  St.  George.  I  would 
rather  think  of  it  that  way;  it  makes  it  easier.  Say 
you  did  it  for  me." 

St.  George  stooped  down,  raised  her  thin  white  hand 
to  his  lips,  kissed  it  reverently,  and  without  a  word 
of  any  kind  walked  to  the  door  of  his  bedroom  and 
shut  it  behind  him. 

Mrs.  Rutter's  hand  dropped  to  her  lap  and  a  smile 
of  intense  relief  passed  over  her  face.  She  neither 
looked  after  St.  George,  nor  did  she  offer  any  explana 
tion  to  Harry;  she  merely  bent  forward  and  continued 
her  caresses,  stroking  the  boy's  glossy  hair,  patting 
the  white  temples  with  her  delicate  fingers,  smooth 
ing  the  small,  well-set  ears  and  the  full  brown  throat, 
kissing  his  forehead,  her  eyes  reading  his  face,  wonder 
ing  if  she  had  spoken  too  freely  and  yet  regretting 
nothing:  what  she  had  said  had  come  straight  from 
her  heart  and  she  was  not  ashamed  of  it. 

The  boy  lay  still,  his  head  against  her  breast.  That 
his  mother  had  been  stirred  even  in  a  greater  degree 
over  what  St.  George  had  said  to  her  than  she  had  been 
by  his  father's  treatment  of  him  was  evident  in  the  trem 
bling  movement  of  the  soft  hands  caressing  his  hair 

163 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

and  in  the  way  her  breath  came  and  went.  Under 
her  soothing  touch  his  thoughts  went  back  to  the 
events  of  the  morning: — his  uncle's  defiant  tones  as 
he  denounced  his  father;  his  soft  answer  to  his  mother; 
her  pleading  words  in  reply,  and  then  the  reverent 
kiss. 

Suddenly,  clear  as  the  tones  of  a  far-off  convent  bell 
sifting  down  from  some  cloud-swept  crag,  there  stole 
into  his  mind  a  memory  of  his  childhood — a  legend 
of  long  ago,  vague  and  intangible — one  he  could  not 
put  into  words — one  Alec  had  once  hinted  at.  He 
held  his  breath  trying  to  gather  up  the  loose  ends — to 
make  a  connected  whole;  to  fit  the  parts  together. 
Then,  as  one  blows  out  a  candle,  leaving  total  dark 
ness,  he  banished  it  all  from  his  mind. 

"Mother  dear! — mother  dear!"  he  cried  tenderly, 
and  wound  his  arms  the  closer  about  her  neck. 

She  gathered  him  up  as  she  had  done  in  the  old  days 
when  he  was  a  child  at  her  breast;  all  the  intervening 
years  seemed  blotted  out.  He  was  her  baby  boy  once 
more — her  constant  companion  and  unending  com 
fort:  the  one  and  only  thing  in  her  whole  life  that 
understood  her. 

Soon  the  warmth  and  strength  of  the  full  man  began 
to  reach  her  heart.  She  drew  him  still  closer,  this 
strong  son  who  loved  her,  and  in  the  embrace  there 
grew  a  new  and  strange  tenderness — one  born  of  con 
fidence.  It  was  this  arm  which  must  defend  her  now; 
this  head  and  heart  which  must  guide  her.  She  was 
no  longer  adrift. 

164 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

The  two  had  not  moved  when  St.  George  re-entered 
the  room  some  moments  later.  Harry's  head  still 
lay  on  her  breast,  the  thin,  transparent  hands  tight 
about  his  neck. 


166 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  colonel's  treatment  of  Harry  at  the  club  had 
cleared  the  air  of  any  doubt  that  either  the  boy  or  St. 
George  might  have  had  concerning  Rutter's  frame  of 
mind.  Henceforth  the  boy  and  the  man  would  conduct 
their  lives  as  if  the  Lord  of  Moorlands  did  not  exist. 

So  the  boy  unpacked  the  things  which  Alec  had 
brought  in,  and  with  his  mother's  assistance — who 
came  in  once  a  week — hung  up  his  hunting-clothes  in 
the  closet,  racked  up  his  guns  and  fishing-rods  over 
the  mantel,  and  suspended  his  favorite  saddle  by  a 
stirrup  on  a  hook  in  the  hall.  Then  the  two  had  set 
out  his  books  and  miniatures;  one  of  his  mother,  which 
he  kissed  tenderly,  with  the  remark  that  it  wasn't  half 
as  pretty  as  the  original,  and  then  propped  up  in  the 
place  of  honor  in  the  middle  of  his  desk,  and  another 
of  his  father,  which  he  placed  on  an  adjoining  table 
— as  well  as  his  few  belongings  and  knickknacks. 
And  so  the  outcast  settled  down  determined  not  only 
to  adapt  himself  to  the  comforts — or  want  of  them — to 
be  found  under  St.  George's  roof,  but  to  do  it  cheer 
fully,  gratefully,  and  like  a  man  and  a  gentleman. 

To  none  of  all  this  did  his  father  offer  a  single  ob 
jection.  "  Make  a  clean  sweep  of  Mr.  Harry  Rutter's 
things,"  he  had  said  to  Alec,  "  so  that  I  may  be  relieved 
from  the  annoyance  of  a  second  delivery." 

166 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Alec  had  repeated  the  order  to  Harry  word  for  word, 
adding:  "Don't  you  sass  back,  Marse  Harry — let  him 
blow  hisse'f  out — he  don't  mean  nothin'.  He's  dat 
mad  he's  crazy — gits  dat  way  sometimes — den  purty 
soon  he's  fit  to  bust  hisse'f  wide  open  a-cryin'!  I  see 
him  do  dat  once  when  you  warn't  mo'n  so  high,  and 
de  doctor  said  you  was  daid  fo'  sho'." 

Harry  made  no  reply,  but  it  did  not  ruffle  his  tem 
per.  His  duty  was  no  longer  to  be  found  at  Moorlands ; 
his  Uncle  George  claimed  him.  All  his  hours  would 
now  be  devoted  to  showing  him  how  grateful  he  was 
for  his  protection  and  guidance.  Time  enough  for  his 
father,  and  time  enough  for  Kate,  for  that  matter, 
should  the  clouds  ever  lift — as  lift  they  would — but 
his  Uncle  George  first,  last,  and  all  the  time. 

And  St.  George  appreciated  it  to  the  full.  Never 
had  he  been  so  happy.  Even  the  men  at  the  club  saw 
the  change,  and  declared  he  looked  ten  years  younger 
— fifteen  really,  when  Harry  was  with  him,  which  was 
almost  always  the  case — for  out  of  consideration  for 
St.  George  and  the  peculiar  circumstances  surround 
ing  the  boy's  condition,  his  birth  and  station,  and  the 
pride  they  took  in  his  pluck,  the  committee  had  at 
last  stretched  the  rule  and  had  sent  Mr.  Henry  Gilmor 
Rutter  of  Moorlands — with  special  reference  to  "  Moor 
lands,"  a  perennial  invitation  entitling  him  to  the  club's 
privileges — a  card  which  never  expired  because  it  was 
systematically  renewed. 

And  it  was  not  only  at  the  club  that  the  two  men 
were  inseparable.  In  their  morning  walks,  the  four 

167 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

dogs  in  full  cry;  at  the  races;  in  the  hunts,  when  some 
one  loaned  both  Harry  and  his  uncle  a  mount — at 
night,  when  Todd  passed  silently  out,  leaving  all  the 
bottled  comforts  behind  him — followed  by — "Ah, 
Harry! — and  you  won't  join  me?  That's  right,  my 
son — and  I  won't  ask  you,"  the  two  passed  almost 
every  hour  of  the  day  and  night  together.  It  was  host 
<one  minute  and  father  the  next. 

And  this  life,  if  the  truth  be  told,  did  not  greatly 
vary  from  the  one  the  boy  had  always  led,  except  that 
there  was  more  of  town  and  less  of  country  in  it  than 
he  had  heretofore  been  accustomed  to.  The  freedom 
from  all  care — for  the  colonel  had  trained  Harry  to 
neither  business  nor  profession — was  the  same,  and 
so  was  the  right  to  employ  his  time  as  he  pleased.  At 
Moorlands  he  was  busy  over  his  horses  and  dogs, 
his  sporting  outfits,  riding  to  hounds,  cock-fights — 
common  in  those  days — and,  of  course,  assisting  his 
father  and  mother  in  dispensing  the  hospitality  of  the 
house.  In  Kennedy  Square  St.  George  was  his  chief 
occupation,  and  of  the  two  he  liked  the  last  the  best. 
What  he  had  hungered  for  all  his  life  was  sympathy 
and  companionship,  and  this  his  father  had  never 
given  him;  nor  had  he  known  what  it  was  since  his 
college  days.  Advice,  money,  horses,  clothes,  guns — 
anything  and  everything  which  might,  could,  or  would 
redound  to  the  glory  of  the  Rutters  had  been  his  for 
the  asking,  but  the  touch  of  a  warm  hand,  the  thrill 
in  the  voice  when  he  had  done  something  to  please 
and  had  waited  for  an  acknowledgment — that  had 

168 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

never  come  his  way.  Nothing  of  this  kind  was  needed 
between  men,  his  father  would  say  to  Harry's  mother 
— and  his  son  was  a  man  now.  Had  their  child 
oeen  a  daughter,  it  would  have  been  quite  another 
thing,  but  a  son  was  to  be  haridled  differently — 
especially  an  only  son  who  was  sole  heir  to  one's 
entire  estate. 

And  yet  it  must  not  be  thought  that  the  outcast 
spent  his  time  in  sheer  idleness.  St.  George  would 
often  find  him  tucked  away  in  one  of  his  big  chairs 
devouring  some  book  he  had  culled  from  the  old  gen 
eral's  library  in  the  basement — a  room  adjoining  the 
one  occupied  by  a  firm  of  young  lawyers — Pawson 
&  Pawson  (only  one  brother  was  alive) — with  an 
entrance  on  the  side  street,  it  being  of  "no  use  to 
me"  St.  George  had  said — "and  the  rent  will  come 
in  handy."  Tales  of  the  sea  especially  delighted  the 
young  fellow — the  old  admiral's  blood  being  again  in 
evidence — and  so  might  have  been  the  mother's  fine 
imagination.  It  was  Defoe  and  Mungo  Park  and 
Cooke  who  enchained  the  boy's  attention,  as  well  as 
many  of  the  chronicles  of  the  later  navigators.  But 
of  the  current  literature  of  the  day — Longfellow,  Mar 
garet  Fuller,  Hawthorne,  and  Emerson — no  one  ap 
pealed  to  him  as  did  the  man  Poe.  He  and  St.  George 
had  passed  many  an  hour  discussing  him.  Somehow 
the  bond  of  sympathy  between  himself  and  the  poet 
had  become  the  stronger.  Both  had  wept  bitter  tears 
over  the  calamities  that  had  followed  an  unrequited 
love. 

169 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

It  was  during  one  of  these  talks — and  the  poet  was 
often  under  discussion — that  St.  George  had  suddenly 
risen  from  his  chair,  lighted  a  candle,  and  had  betaken 
himself  to  the  basement — a  place  he  seldom  visited 
— from  which  he  brought  back  a  thin,  crudely  bound, 
and  badly  printed,  dust-covered  volume  bearing  the 
title  "Tamerlane: — by  a  Bostonian."  This,  with  a 
smile  he  handed  to  Harry.  Some  friend  had  given  him 
the  little  book  when  it  was  first  published  and  he  had 
forgotten  it  was  in  the  house  until  he  noted  Harry's 
interest  in  the  author.  Then  again,  he  wanted  to  see 
whether  it  was  the  boy's  literary  taste,  never  much  in 
evidence,  or  his  romantic  conception  of  the  much- 
talked-of  poet,  which  had  prompted  his  intense  in 
terest  in  the  man. 

"Read  these  poems,  Harry,  and  tell  me  who  wrote 
them,"  said  St.  George,  dusting  the  book  with  a  thrash 
of  his  handkerchief  and  tossing  it  to  the  young  fellow. 

The  boy  caught  it,  skimmed  through  the  thin  vol 
ume,  lingered  over  one  or  two  pages,  absorbing  each 
line,  and  replied  in  a  decided  and  delighted  voice: 
"  The  same  man  who  wrote  '  The  Raven/  of  course — 
there  can't  be  any  doubt  of  it.  I  can  hear  Mr.  Horn's 
voice  in  every  line.  Why  didn't  you  let  me  have  it 
before?" 

"Are  you  sure?"  asked  St.  George,  watching  him 
closely. 

"Am  I  sure? — of  course  I  am!     Listen  to  this: 

"'We  grew  in  age — and — love — together, 
Roaming  the  forest  and  the  wild ' 

170 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

That's  Kate  and  me,  Uncle  George,"  and  he  smiled 
sadly.  "And  then  this  line: 

"'I  saw  no  heaven  but  in  her  eyes.' 

And  then  these  lines  in  'The  Raven ' — wait — I  will 
read  them."  He  had  the  sheet  of  paper  in  his  pocket 
which  Richard  Horn  had  read  from  at  the  club,  and 
knew  the  poem  now  by  heart: 

"  'Tell  this  soul  with  sorrow  laden,  if,  within  the  distant  Aidenn, 
It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden  whom  the  angels  call  Lenore ' — 

That's  me  again.  I  wish  I  could  read  it  like  Mr. 
Horn.  What  a  voice — so  deep — so  musical — like  a 
great  organ,  or,  rather,  like  one  of  the  big  strings  on 
his  violin." 

"  And  what  a  mind,  too,  Harry,"  rejoined  St.  George. 
"  Richard  is  a  long  way  ahead  of  his  time.  His  head  is 
full  of  things  that  few  around  here  understand.  They 
hear  him  play  the  violin  or  read,  and  some  go  away 
calling  him  a  genius,  but  when  he  talks  to  them  about 
the  way  the  railroads  are  opening  up,  and  the  new  tele 
graph  this  man  Morse  is  at  work  on,  and  what  is  going 
to  come  of  it — or  hear  him  discuss  the  development 
of  the  country  along  scientific  lines,  they  shrug  their 
shoulders  and  tap  their  foreheads.  You  want  to  talk 
to  him  every  chance  you  get.  That  is  one  reason  I 
am  glad  they  let  you  permanently  into  the  club,  for 
he  is  too  busy  in  his  work-shop  at  home  to  speak  to 
anybody.  Nobody  will  do  you  so  much  good — and  he 
likes  you,  Harry.  He  said  to  me  only  the  other  night 

171 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

when  I  was  dining  with  him — the  night  you  were  at 
Mrs.  Cheston's — that  he  felt  sorry  for  you;  that  it 
was  not  your  fault,  or  the  fault  of  your  father — but 
that  you  both  had  been  caught  in  the  ebb-tide  of  a 
period." 

Harry  laughed:  "What  did  he  mean  by  that?" 

"I'll  be  hanged  if  I  know.  You  made  so  good  a 
guess  on  the  Tamerlane,  that  it's  just  occurred  to  me 
to  try  you  on  this,"  and  St.  George  laughed  heartily. 
(St.  George  was  adrift  on  the  ebb-tide  himself  did  he 
but  know  it.) 

Harry  thought  earnestly  for  a  moment,  pondering 
upon  what  the  inventor  could  have  had  in  his  mind. 
It  couldn't  have  been  politics  that  Mr.  Horn  meant; 
nor  failure  of  the  crops;  nor  the  way  the  slaves  were 
treated.  None  of  these  things  affected  him.  Indeed 
none  of  them  did  he  know  anything  of.  Nor  was  he 
an  expert  on  duelling.  It  must  have  been  Kate.  Yes 
— of  course — it  was  Kate  and  her  treatment  of  him. 
The  "tide"  was  what  had  swept  them  apart. 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  he  cried  in  an  animated  tone.  "  He 
meant  Kate.  Tell  me — what  did  he  say  about  her?" 
He  had  searched  his  books  for  some  parallel  from  which 
to  draw  a  conclusion,  but  none  of  them  had  given  him 
any  relief.  May  be  Mr.  Horn  had  solved  the  problem. 

"He  said  she  was  the  first  of  the  flood,  though  he 
was  mighty  sorry  for  you  both;  and  he  said,  too,  that, 
as  she  was  the  first  to  strike  out  for  the  shore,  Ken 
nedy  Square  ought  to  build  a  triumphal  arch  for  her," 
and  St.  George  looked  quizzically  at  Harry. 

172 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Well,  do  you  think  there  is  any  common  sense  in 
that?"  blurted  out  the  boy,  twisting  himself  in  his 
chair  so  he  could  get  a  better  look  at  his  uncle's  face. 

"No — it  doesn't  sound  like  it,  but  it  may  be  pro 
found  wisdom  all  the  same,  if  you  can  only  see  it  from 
Richard's  point  of  view.  Try  it.  There's  a  heap  of 
brains  under  his  cranium." 

Harry  fell  to  tapping  the  arm  of  his  chair.  Queer 
reasoning  this  of  Mr.  Horn's,  he  said  to  himself.  He 
had  always  thought  that  he  and  his  father  were  on  the 
tip-top  of  any  kind  of  tide,  flood  or  ebb — and  as  for 
Kate,  she  was  the  white  gull  that  skimmed  its  crest! 

Again  Harry  dropped  into  deep  thought,  shifting 
his  legs  now  and  then  in  his  restless,  impatient  way. 
If  there  was  any  comfort  to  be  gotten  out  of  this  new 
doctrine  he  wanted  to  probe  it  to  the  bottom. 

"And  what  does  he  say  of  Mr.  Poe?  Does  he 
think  he's  a  drunken  lunatic,  like  some  of  the  men 
at  the  club?" 

"No,  he  thinks  he  is  one  of  the  greatest  literary 
geniuses  the  country  has  yet  produced.  He  has  said 
so  for  years — ever  since  he  began  to  write.  Willis 
first  became  acquainted  with  Mr.  Poe  through  a  letter 
Richard  gave  him,  and  now  that  the  papers  are  full 
of  him,  and  everybody  is  talking  about  him,  these 
backbiters  like  Bowdoin  want  to  get  into  line  and 
say  they  always  thought  so.  But  Richard  has  never 
wavered.  Of  course  Poe  loses  his  balance  and  topples 
backward  once  in  a  while — but  he's  getting  over  it. 
That  is  his  mistake  and  it  is  unfortunate,  but  it  isn't  a 

173 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

crime.  I  can  forgive  him  anything  he  does  so  he  keeps 
to  his  ideals.  If  he  had  had  a  better  bringing  up  and 
knew  the  difference  between  good  rain-water  Madeira 
and  bad  pump  water  and  worse  whiskey  he  would 
keep  as  straight  as  a  church  deacon.  Too  bad  he 
doesn't." 

"  Well,"  Harry  answered  at  last,  rising  from  his  chair 
and  brushing  the  ashes  of  his  pipe  from  his  clothes — 
"I  don't  know  anything  about  Mr.  Horn's  tides,  but 
he's  right  about  Mr.  Poe — that  is,  I  hope  he  is.  We've 
both  got  a  '  Lost  Lenore,'  "  and  his  voice  quivered. 
All  Harry's  roads  ended  at  Kate's  door. 

And  so  with  these  and  other  talks,  heart-burnings, 
outings,  sports,  and  long  tramps  in  the  country,  the 
dogs  scampering  ahead,  the  summer  days  slipped  by. 


174 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Such  were  the  soft,  balmy  conditions  in  and  around 
the  Temple  Mansion — conditions  bringing  only  peace 
and  comfort — (heart-aches  were  kept  in  check) — when 
one  August  morning  there  came  so  decided  a  change 
of  weather  that  everybody  began  at  once  to  get  in  out 
of  the  wet.  The  storm  had  been  brewing  for  some 
days  up  Moorlands  way,  where  all  Harry's  storms 
started,  but  up  to  the  present  moment  there  had  been 
no  indications  in  and  about  Kennedy  Square  of  its  near 
approach,  or  even  of  its  existence. 

It  was  quite  early  in  the  day  when  the  big  drops  be 
gan  to  patter  down  on  Todd's  highly  polished  knocker. 
Breakfast  had  been  served  and  the  mail  but  half 
opened — containing  among  other  missives  a  letter 
from  Poe  acknowledging  one  from  St.  George,  in 
which  he  wrote  that  he  might  soon  be  in  Kennedy 
Square  on  his  way  to  Richmond — a  piece  of  news 
which  greatly  delighted  Harry — and  another  from 
Tom  Coston,  inviting  them  both  to  Wesley  for  the 
fall  shooting,  with  a  postscript  to  the  effect  that  Willits 
was  "still  at  the  Red  Sulphur  with  the  Seymours" — 
(a  piece  of  news  which  greatly  depressed  him) — when 
Todd  answered  a  thunderous  rat-a-tat  and  immediately 
thereafter  recrossed  the  hall  and  opened  the  dining- 

175 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

room  door  just  wide  enough  to  thrust  in  first  his  scared 
face — then  his  head — shoulder — arm — and  last  his 
hand,  on  the  palm  of  which  lay  a  small,  greasy  card 
bearing  the  inscription: 


JOHN   GADGEM,  AGENT. 


The  darky,  evidently,  was  not  in  a  normal  condition, 
for  after  a  moment's  nervous  hesitation,  his  eyes  over 
his  shoulder  as  if  fearing  he  was  being  followed,  he 
squeezed  in  the  rest  of  his  body,  closed  the  door  softly 
behind  him,  and  said  in  a  hoarse  whisper  to  the  room 
at  large: 

"Dat's  de  same  man  been  here  three  times  yister- 
day.  He  asked  fust  fer  Marse  Harry,  an*  when  I  done 
toP  him  he  warn't  home — you  was  'sleep  upstairs, 
Marse  Harry,  but  I  warn't  gwineter  'sturb  ye — he  say 
he  come  back  dis  mawnin'." 

"Well,  but  what  does  he  want?"  asked  Harry, 
dropping  a  lump  of  sugar  in  his  cup.  He  had  been 
accumstomed  to  be  annoyed  by  agents  of  all  kinds 
who  wanted  to  sell  him  one  thing  or  another — and  so 
he  never  allowed  any  one  to  get  at  him  unless  his  busi 
ness  was  stated  beforehand.  He  had  learned  this  from 
his  father. 

"Idun'no,  sah." 

"  What  does  he  look  like,  Todd  ?  "  cried  St.  George, 
breaking  the  seal  of  another  letter. 

"Wall,  he  ain't  no  gemman — he's  jus'  a  pusson  I 
176 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

reckon.  I  done  toP  him  you  warn't  out  o'  bed  yit, 
but  he  said  he'd  wait.  I  got  him  shet  outside,  but  I 
can't  fool  him  no  mo'.  What'll  I  do  now?" 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  he  wants,  then  ?  "  Harry 
burst  out  impatiently. 

"Well,"  said  Todd— "ef  I  was  to  tell  ye  God's 
truf ,  I  reckon  he  wants  money.  He  says  he's  been  to 
de  big  house— way  out  to  de  colonel's,  and  dey  th'owed 
him  out — and  now  he's  gwineter  sit  down  yere  till  some 
body  listens  to  him.  It  won't  do  to  fool  wid  him, 
Marse  Harry — I  see  dat  de  fus'  time  he  come.  He's 
a  he-one — and  he's  got  horns  on  him  for  sho'.  What'll 
I  do?" 

Both  Harry  and  St.  George  roared. 

"Why  bring  him  in,  of  course — a  'pusson*  with 
horns  on  him  will  be  worth  seeing." 

A  shabby,  wizened-faced  man;  bent-in-the-back, 
gimlet-eyed,  wearing  a  musty  brown  coat,  soiled  black 
stock,  unspeakable  linen,  and  skin-tight  trousers  held 
to  his  rusty  shoes  by  wide  straps — showing  not  only 
the  knuckles  of  his  knees  but  the  streaked  thinness  of 
his  upper  shanks — (Cruikshank  could  have  drawn 
him  to  the  life) — sidled  into  the  room,  mopping  his 
head  with  a  red  cotton  handkerchief  which  he  took 
from  his  hat. 

"My  name  is  Gadgem,  gentleman — Mr.  John  Gadr 
gem  of  Gadgem  &  Combes. 

"I  am  looking  for  Mr.  Harry  Rutter,  whom  I  am 
informed — I  would  not  say  positively — but  I  am  in- 
formed  is  stopping  with  you,  Mr.  Temple.  You  for- 

177 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

get  me,  Mr.  Temple,  but  I  do  not  forget  you,  sir. 
That  little  foreclosure  matter  of  Bucks  vs.  Temple — 
you  remember  when " 

"  Sit  down,"  said  St.  George  curtly,  laying  down  his 
knife  and  fork.  "  Todd,  hand  Mr.  Gadgem  a  chair." 

The  gimlet-eyed  man — and  it  was  very  active — 
waved  his  hand  deprecatingly. 

"No,  I  don't  think  that  is  necessary.  I  can  stand. 
I  prefer  to  stand.  I  am  accwstomed  to  stand — I  have 
been  standing  outside  this  gentleman's  father's  door 
now,  off  and  on,  for  some  weeks,  and " 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  you  want?"  interrupted 
Harry,  curtly.  References  to  Moorlands  invariably 
roused  his  ire. 

"  I  am  coming  to  that,  sir,  slowly,  but  surely.  Now 
that  I  have  found  somebody  that  will  listen  to  me — 
that  is,  if  you  are  Mr.  Harry  Rutter — "  The  defer 
ential  air  with  which  he  said  this  was  admirable. 

"Oh,  yes — I'm  the  man,"  answered  Harry  in  a 
resigned  voice. 

"  Yes,  sir — so  I  supposed.  And  now  I  look  at  you, 
sir" — here  the  gimlet  was  in  full  twist — "I  would 
make  an  affidavit  to  that  effect  before  any  notary." 
He  began  loosening  his  coat  with  his  skinny  fingers, 
fumbling  in  his  inside  pocket,  thrusting  deep  his  hand, 
as  if  searching  for  an  elusive  insect  in  the  vicinity  of 
his  arm-pit,  his  talk  continuing:  "Yes,  sir,  before  any 
notary,  you  are  so  exactly  like  your  father.  Not  that 
I've  seen  your  father,  sir,  very  many  times'1 — the  elu 
sive  had  evidently  escaped,  for  his  hand  went  deeper. 

178 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"I've  only  seen  him  once — once— and  it  was  enough. 
It  was  not  a  pleasant  visit,  sir — in  fact,  it  was  a  most 
impleasant  visit.  I  came  very  near  having  cause  for 
action — for  assault,  really.  A  very  polite  colored  man 
was  all  that  prevented  it,  and —  Ah — here  it  is!" 
He  had  the  minute  pest  now.  "  Permit  me  to  separate 
the  list  from  the  exhibits." 

At  this  Gadgem's  hand,  clutching  a  bundle  of  papers, 
came  out  with  a  jerk — so  much  of  a  jerk  that  St.  George, 
who  was  about  to  end  the  comedy  by  ordering  the 
man  from  the  room,  stopped  short  in  his  protest,  his 
curiosity  getting  the  better  of  him  to  know  what  the 
fellow  had  found. 

"There,  sir."  Here  he  drew  a  long  slip  from  the 
package,  held  it  between  his  thumb  and  forefinger, 
and  was  about  to  continue,  when  St.  George  burst  out 
with: 

"  Look  here,  Gadgem — if  you  have  any  business  with 
Mr.  Rutter  you  will  please  state  it  at  once.  We  have 
hardly  finished  breakfast." 

'*'  I  beg,  sir,  that  you  will  not  lose  your  temper.  It 
is  unbusinesslike  to  lose  one's  temper.  Gadgem  & 
Combes,  sir,  never  lose  their  temper.  They  are  men 
of  peace,  sir — always  men  of  peace.  Mr.  Combes 
sometimes  resorts  to  extreme  measures,  but  never  Mr. 
Gadgem.  I  am  Mr.  Gadgem,  sir,"  and  he  tapped  his 
soiled  shirt-front  with  his  soiled  finger-nail.  "Peace 
is  my  watchword,  that  is  why  this  matter  has  been 
placed  in  my  hands.  Permit  me,  sir,  to  ask  you  to 
cast  your  eye  over  this." 

179 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Harry,  who  was  getting  interested,  scanned  the  long 
slip  and  handed  it  to  St.  George,  who  studied  it  for  a 
moment  and  returned  it  to  Harry. 

"You  will  note,  I  beg  of  you,  sir,  the  first  item." 
There  was  a  tone  of  triumph  now  in  Gadgem's  voice. 
"One  saddle  horse  sixteen  hands  high,  bought  of 
Hampson  &  Co.  on  the" — then  he  craned  his  neck 
so  as  to  see  the  list  over  Harry's  shoulder — "yes — on 
the  second  of  last  September.  Rather  overdue,  is  it 
not,  sir,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  remark  ?  "  This  came 
with  a  lift  of  the  eyebrows,  as  if  Harry's  oversight 
had  been  too  naughty  for  words. 

"But  what  the  devil  have  I  got  to  do  with  this?" 
The  boy  was  thoroughly  angry  now.  The  lift  of  Gad- 
gem's  eyebrows  did  it. 

"You  rode  the  horse,  sir."  This  came  with  a  cer 
tain  air  of  "Oh!  I  have  you  now." 

"Yes,  and  he  broke  his  leg  and  had  to  be  shot," 
burst  out  Harry  in  a  tone  that  showed  how  worthless 
had  been  the  bargain. 

"J^ractly,  sir.  So  your  father  told  me,  sir.  You 
don't  remember  having  paid  Mr.  Hampson  for  him 
be/ore  he  broke  his  leg,  do  you,  sir?"  He  had  him 
pinned  fast  now — all  he  had  to  do  was  to  watch  his 
victim's  struggles. 

"Me?     No,  of  course  not!"    Harry  exploded. 

"  Exactly  so,  sir — so  your  father  told  me.  Forcibly, 
sir — and  as  if  he  was  quite  sure  of  it." 

Again  he  looked  over  Harry's  shoulder,  following  the 
list  with  his  skinny  finger.  At  the  same  time  he  low- 

180 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

ered  his  voice — became  even  humble.  "Ah,  there  it 
is — the  English  racing  saddle  and  the  pair  of  blankets, 
and  the — might  I  ask  you,  sir,  whether  you  have 
among  your  papers  any  receipt  for ?" 

"But  I  don't  pay  these  bills — I  never  pay  any  bills." 
Harry's  tone  had  now  reached  a  higher  pitch. 

"Exactly  so,  sir — just  what  your  father  said,  sir, 
and  with  such  vehemence  that  I  moved  toward  the 
door."  Out  went  the  finger  again,  the  insinuating 
voice  keeping  up.  "And  then  the  five  hundred  dol 
lars  from  Mr.  Slater — you  see,  sir,  we  had  all  these 
accounts  placed  in  our  hands  with  the  expectation 
that  your  father  would  liquidate  at  one  fell  swoop — 
these  were  Mr.  Combes's  very  words,  sir:  'One  Jell 
swoop.' '  This  came  with  an  inward  rake  of  his 
hand,  his  fingers  grasping  an  imaginary  sickle, 
Harry's  accumulated  debts  being  so  many  weeds 
in  his  way. 

"And  didn't  he?  He  always  has,"  demanded  the 
culprit. 

"  Exactly  so,  sir — exactly  what  your  father  said." 

"Exactly  what?" 

"That  he  had  heretofore  always  paid  them." 

"Well,  then,  take  them  to  him!"  roared  Harry, 
breaking  loose  again.  "I  haven't  got  anything  to  do 
with  them,  and  won't." 

"  Your  father's  precise  words,  sir,"  purred  Gadgem. 
"And  by  the  time  he  had  uttered  them,  sir,  I  was 
out  of  the  room.  It  was  here,  sir,  that  the  very 
polite  colored  man,  Alec  by  name,  so  I  am  informed, 

181 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

and  of  whom  I  made  mention  a  few  moments  ago, 
became  of  in-ya/uable  assistance — of  very  great  assist 
ance,  sir." 

"  You  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  have  seen  my  father 
— handed  him  these  bills,  and  that  he  has  refused  to 
pay  them?"  Harry  roared  on. 

"I  do,  sir."  Gadgem  had  straightened  his  withered 
body  now  and  was  boring  into  Harry's  eyes  with  all 
his  might. 

"Will  you  tell  me  just  what  he  said?"  The  boy 
was  still  roaring,  but  the  indignant  tone  was  missing. 

"  He  said — you  will  not  be  offended,  sir — you  mean, 
of  course,  sir,  that  you  would  like  me  to  state  exactly 
what  your  father  said,  proceeding  as  if  I  was  under 
oath."  It  is  indescribable  how  soft  and  mellifluous 
his  voice  had  now  become. 

Harry  nodded. 

"He  said,  sir,  that  he'd  be  damned  if  he'd  pay  an 
other  cent  for  a  hot-headed  fool  who  had  disgraced 
his  family.  He  said,  sir,  that  you  were  of  age — and 
were  of  age  when  you  contracted  these  bills.  He  said, 
sir,  that  he  had  already  sent  you  these  accounts  two 
days  after  he  had  ordered  you  from  his  house.  And 
finally,  sir — I  say,  finally,  sir,  because  it  appeared  to 
me  at  the  time  to  be  conclusive — he  said,  sir,  that  he 
would  set  the  dogs  on  me  if  I  ever  crossed  his  lot  again. 
Hence,  sir,  my  appearing  three  times  at  your  door 
yesterday.  Hence,  sir,  my  breaking  in  upon  you  at 
this  unseemly  hour  in  the  morning.  I  am  particular 
myself,  sir,  about  having  my  morning  meal  disturbed; 

182 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

cold  coffee  is  never  agreeable,  gentlemen — but  in  this 
case  you  must  admit  that  my  intrusion  is  pardonable." 

The  boy  understood  now. 

"  Come  to  think  of  it  I  have  a  bundle  of  papers  up 
stairs  tied  with  a  red  string  which  came  with  my  boxes 
from  Moorlands.  I  threw  them  in  the  drawer  with 
out  opening  them."  This  last  remark  was  addressed 
to  St.  George,  who  had  listened  at  first  with  a  broad 
smile  on  his  face,  which  had  deepened  to  one  of 
intense  seriousness  as  the  interview  continued,  and 
which  had  now  changed  to  one  of  ill-concealed  rage. 

"Mr.  Gadgem,"  gritted  St.  George  between  his 
teeth — he  had  risen  from  the  table  during  the  colloquy 
and  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  mantel,  the 
blood  up  to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Lay  the  packages  of  bills  with  the  memoranda  on 
my  desk,  and  I  will  look  them  over  during  the  day." 

"  But,  Mr.  Temple,"  and  his  lip  curled  contempt 
uously — he  had  had  that  same  trick  played  on  him 
by  dozens  of  men. 

"  Not  another  word,  Mr.  Gadgem.  I  said — I — would 
look — them — over — during — the — day.  You've  had 
some  dealings  with  me  and  know  exactly  what  kind  of 
a  man  I  am.  When  I  want  you  I  will  send  for  you. 
If  I  don't  send  for  you,  come  here  to-morrow  morn 
ing  at  ten  o'clock  and  Mr.  Rutter  will  give  you  his 
answer.  Todd,  show  Mr.  Gadgem  out." 

"  But,   Mr.   Temple — you   forget   that  my  duty   is 


183 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"I  forget  nothing.  Todd,  show  Mr.  Gadgem 
out." 

With  the  closing  of  the  door  behind  the  agent,  St. 
George  turned  to  Harry.  His  eyes  were  snapping  fire 
and  his  big  frame  tense  with  anger.  This  phase  of 
the  affair  had  not  occurred  to  him — nothing  in  which 
money  formed  an  important  part  ever  did  occur  to 
him. 

"A  cowardly  piece  of  business,  Harry,  and  on  a 
par  with  everything  he  has  done  since  you  left  his 
house.  Talbot  must  be  crazy  to  act  as  he  does. 
He  can't  break  you  down  in  any  other  way,  so  he  in 
sults  you  before  his  friends  and  now  throws  these  in 
your  face" — and  he  pointed  to  the  package  of  bills 
where  Gadgem  had  laid  it — "a  most  extraordinary 
proceeding.  Please  hand  me  that  list.  Thank  you. 
.  .  .  Now  this  third  item  .  .  .  this  five  hundred  dol 
lars — did  you  get  that  money?" 

"Yes — and  another  hundred  the  next  day,  which 
isn't  down,"  rejoined  the  young  man,  running  his  eye 
over  the  list. 

"Borrowed  it?" 

"Yes,  of  course — for  Gilbert.  He  got  into  a  card 
scrape  at  the  tavern  and  I  helped  him  out.  I  told  my 
father  all  about  it  and  he  said  I  had  done  just  right; 
that  I  must  always  help  a  friend  out  in  a  case  like  that, 
and  that  he'd  pay  it.  All  he  objected  to  was  my 
borrowing  it  of  a  tradesman  instead  of  my  coming  to 
him."  It  was  an  age  of  borrowing  and  a  bootmaker 
was  often  better  than  a  banker. 

184 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  Well — but  why  didn't  you  go  to  him  ?  "  He  wanted 
to  get  at  all  the  facts. 

"  There  wasn't  time.  Gilbert  had  to  have  the  money 
in  an  hour,  and  it  was  the  only  place  where  I  could 
get  it." 

"Of  course  there  wasn't  time — never  is  when  the 
stakes  are  running  like  that."  St.  George  folded  up 
the  memorandum.  He  knew  something  of  Talbot's 
iron  will,  but  he  never  supposed  that  he  would  lose 
his  sense  of  what  was  right  and  wrong  in  exercising  it. 
Again  he  opened  the  list — rather  hurriedly  this  time, 
as  if  some  new  phase  had  struck  him — studied  it  for 
a  moment,  and  then  asked  with  an  increased  interest 
in  his  tones: 

"  Did  Gilbert  give  you  back  the  money  you  loaned 
him?" 

"Yes — certainly;  about  a  month  afterward."  Here 
at  least  was  an  asset. 

St.  George's  face  lighted  up.  "And  what  did  you 
do  with  it?" 

"Took  it  to  my  father  and  he  told  me  to  use  it; 
that  he  would  settle  with  Mr.  Slater  when  he  paid  his 
account; — when,  too,  he  would  thank  him  for  helping 
me  out." 

"  And  when  he  didn't  pay  it  back  and  these  buzzards 
learned  you  had  quit  your  father's  house  they  em 
ployed  Gadgem  to  pick  your  bones." 

"Yes — it  seems  so;  but,  Uncle  George,  it's  due 
them!"  exclaimed  Harry — "they  ought  to  have  their 
money.  I  would  never  have  taken  a  dollar — or  bought 

185 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

a  thing  if  I  had  not  supposed  my  father  would  pay 
for  them."  There  was  no  question  as  to  the  boy's 
sense  of  justice — every  intonation  showed  it. 

"Of  course  it's  due — due  by  you,  too — not  your 
father;  that's  the  worst  of  it.  And  if  he  refuses  to 
assume  it — and  he  has — it  is  still  to  be  paid — every 
cent  of  it.  The  question  is  how  the  devil  is  it  to  be 
paid — and  paid  quickly.  I  can't  have  you  pointed 
out  as  a  spendthrift  and  a  dodger.  No,  this  has  got 
to  be  settled  at  once." 

He  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  his  mind  absorbed 
in  the  effort  to  find  some  way  out  of  the  difficulty. 
The  state  of  his  own  bank  account  precluded  all  re 
lief  in  that  direction.  To  borrow  a  dollar  from  the 
Patapsco  on  any  note  of  hand  he  could  offer  was  out 
of  the  question,  the  money  stringency  having  become 
still  more  acute.  Yet  help  must  be  had,  and  at  once. 
Again  he  unfolded  the  slip  and  ran  his  eyes  over  the 
items,  his  mind  in  deep  thought,  then  he  added  in  an 
anxious  tone: 

"Are  you  aware,  Harry,  that  this  list  amounts  to 
several  thousand  dollars?" 

"  Yes — I  saw  it  did.  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  much. 
I  never  thought  anything  about  it  in  fact.  My  father 
always  paid — paid  for  anything  I  wanted."  Neither 
did  the  young  fellow  ever  concern  himself  about  the 
supply  of  water  in  the  old  well  at  Moorlands.  His 
experience  had  been  altogether  with  the  bucket  and  the 
gourd:  all  he  had  had  to  do  was  to  dip  in. 

Again  St.  George  ruminated.  It  had  been  many 
186 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

years  since  he  had  been  so  disturbed  about  any  matter 
involving  money. 

"And  have  you  any  money  left,  Harry?" 

"Not  much.  What  I  have  is  in  my  drawer  up 
stairs." 

"Then  I'll  lend  you  the  money."  This  came  with 
a  certain  spontaneity — quite  as  if  he  had  said  to  a 
companion  who  had  lost  his  umbrella — "Take  mine!" 

"  But  have  you  got  it,  Uncle  George?"  asked  Harry 
in  an  anxious  tone. 

"No — not  that  I  know  of,"  he  replied  simply,  but 
with  no  weakening  of  his  determination  to  see  the  boy 
through,  no  matter  at  what  cost. 

" Well— then— how  will  you  lend  it?"  laughed 
Harry.  Money  crises  had  not  formed  part  of  his 
troubles. 

"Egad,  my  boy,  I  don't  know! — but  somehow." 

He  rang  the  bell  and  Todd  put  in  his  head. 
"Todd,  go  around  outside, — see  if  young  Mr.  Pawson 
is  in  his  office  below  us,  present  my  compliments  and 
say  that  it  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  call  upon  him 
regarding  a  matter  of  business." 

"Yes,  sah " 

— And,  Todd — say  also  that  if  agreeable  to  him, 
I  will  be  there  in  ten  minutes." 

Punctually  at  ten  o'clock  on  the  following  morning 
the  shrivelled  body  and  anxious  face  of  the  agent  was 
ushered  by  Todd  into  St.  George's  presence — Dandy 
close  behind  sniffing  at  his  thin  knees,  convinced  that 

187 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

he  was  a  suspicious  person.  This  hour  had  been 
fixed  by  Temple  in  case  he  was  not  sent  for  earlier, 
and  as  no  messenger  had  so  far  reached  the  bill 
collector  he  was  naturally  in  doubt  as  to  the  nature 
of  his  reception.  He  had  the  same  hat  in  his  hand 
and  the  same  handkerchief — a  weekly,  or  probably  a 
monthly  comfort — its  dingy  red  color  defrauding  the 
laundry. 

"  I  have  waited,  sir,"  Gadgem  began  in  an  unctuous 
tone,  his  eyes  on  the  dog,  who  had  now  resumed  his 
place  on  the  hearth  rug — "  waited  impatiently,  relying 
upon  the  word  and  honor  of " 

"There— that  will  do,  Gadgem,"  laughed  St.  George 
good-naturedly.  Somehow  he  seemed  more  than 
usually  happy  this  morning — bubbling  over,  indeed, 
ever  since  Todd  had  brought  him  a  message  from  the 
young  lawyer  in  the  basement  but  half  an  hour  be 
fore.  "Keep  that  sort  of  talk  for  those  who  like  it. 
No,  Todd,  you  needn't  bring  Mr.  Gadgem  a  chair, 
for  he  won't  be  here  long  enough  to  enjoy  it.  Now 
listen,"  and  he  took  the  memorandum  from  his  pocket. 
"These  bills  are  correct.  Mr.  Rutter  has  had  the 
money  and  the  goods.  Take  this  list  which  I  have 
signed  to  my  attorney  in  the  office  underneath  and 
be  prepared  to  give  a  receipt  in  full  for  each  account 
at  twelve  o'clock  to-morrow.  I  have  arranged  to  have 
them  paid  in  full.  Good-morning." 

Gadgem  stared.  He  did  not  believe  a  word  about 
finding  the  money  downstairs.  He  was  accustomed 
to  being  put  off  that  way  and  had  already  formulated 

188 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

his  next  tactical  move.  In  fact  he  was  about  to  name 
it  with  some  positiveness,  recounting  the  sort  of  papers 
which  would  follow  and  the  celerity  of  their  serving, 
when  he  suddenly  became  aware  that  St.  George's  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  him  and  instantly  stopped  breathing. 

"I  said  good-morning,  Mr.  Gadgem,"  repeated  St. 
George  sententiously.  There  was  no  mistaking  his 
meaning. 

"I  heard  you,  sir/'  hesitated  the  collector — "/ 
heard  you  distinctly,  but  in  cases  of  this  kind  there 
is " 

St.  George  swung  back  the  door  and  stood  waiting. 
No  man  living  or  dead  had  ever  doubted  the  word  of 
St.  George  Wilmot  Temple,  not  even  by  a  tone  of  the 
voice,  and  Gadgem's  was  certainly  suggestive  of  a 
well-defined  and  most  offensive  doubt.  Todd  moved 
up  closer;  Dandy  rose  to  his  feet,  thinking  he  might 
be  of  use.  The  little  man  looked  from  one  to  the 
other.  He  might  add  an  action  for  assault  and  battery 
to  the  claim,  but  that  would  delay  its  collection. 

"Then  at  twelve  o'clock,  to-morrow,  Mr.  Temple," 
he  purred  blandly. 

"At  twelve  o'clock!"  repeated  St.  George  coldly, 
wondering  which  end  of  the  intruder  he  would  grapple 
when  he  threw  him  through  the  front  door  and  down 
the  front  steps. 

"I  will  be  here  on  the  stroke  of  the  clock,  sir — on 
the  stroke,"  and  Gadgem  slunk  out. 

For  some  minutes  St.  George  continued  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  room,  stooping  once  in  a  while  to  caress 

189 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

the  setter;  dry-washing  his  hands;  tapping  his  well- 
cut  waistcoat  with  his  shapely  fingers,  his  thumbs  in 
the  arm-holes;  halting  now  and  then  to  stretch  him 
self  to  the  full  height  of  his  body.  He  had  outwitted 
the  colonel — taught  him  a  lesson — let  him  see  that  he 
was  not  the  only  "hound  in  the  pack,"  and,  best  of 
all,  he  had  saved  the  boy  from  annoyance  and  possi 
bly  from  disgrace. 

He  was  still  striding  up  and  down  the  room,  when 
Harry,  who  had  overslept  himself  as  usual,  came  down 
to  breakfast.  Had  some  friend  of  his  uncle  found  a 
gold  mine  in  the  back  yard — or,  better  still,  had  Todd 
just  discovered  a  forgotten  row  of  old  "  Brahmin  Ma 
deira"  in  some  dark  corner  of  his  cellar — St.  George 
could  not  have  been  more  buoyant. 

"Glad  you  didn't  get  up  any  earlier,  you  good-for- 
nothing  sleepy-head!"  he  cried  in  welcoming,  joyous 
tones.  "  You  have  just  missed  that  ill-smelling  buz 
zard." 

"What  buzzard?"  asked  Harry,  glancing  over  the 
letters  on  the  mantel  in  the  forlorn  hope  of  finding 
one  from  Kate. 

"  Why,  Gadgem — and  that  is  the  last  you  will  ever 
see  of  him." 

"Why?— has  father  paid  him?"  he  asked  in  a  list 
less  way,  squeezing  Dandy's  nose  thrust  affectionately 
into  his  hand — his  mind  still  on  Kate.  Now  that 
Willits  was  with  her,  as  every  one  said,  she  would 
never  write  him  again.  He  was  a  fool  to  expect  it, 
he  thought,  and  he  sighed  heavily. 

190 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  Of  course  he  hasn't  paid  him — but  I  have.  That 
is,  a  friend  of  mine  has — or  will." 

"You  have!"  cried  Harry  with  a  start.  He  was  in 
terested  now — not  for  himself,  but  for  St.  George:  no 
penny  of  his  uncle's  should  ever  go  to  pay  his  debts. 
"  Where  did  the  money  come  from  ?  " 

"Never  you  mind  where  the  money  came  from. 
You  found  it  for  Gilbert — did  he  ask  you  where  you 
got  it?  Why  should  you  ask  me?" 

"Well,  I  won't;  but  you  are  mighty  good  to  me, 
Uncle  George,  and  I  am  very  grateful  to  you."  The 
relief  was  not  overwhelming,  for  the  burden  of  the 
debt  had  not  been  heavy.  It  was  only  the  sting  of 
his  father's  refusal  that  had  hurt.  He  had  always  be 
lieved  that  the  financial  tangle  would  be  straightened 
out  somehow. 

"  No! — damn  it! — you  are  not  grateful.  You  sha'n't 
be  grateful!"  cried  St.  George  with  a  boyish  laugh, 
seating  himself  that  he  might  fill  his  pipe  the  better 
from  a  saucer  of  tobacco  on  the  table.  "  If  you  were 
grateful  it  would  spoil  it  all.  What  you  can  do,  how 
ever,  is  to  thank  your  lucky  stars  that  that  greasy  red 
pocket-handkerchief  will  never  be  aired  in  your  pres 
ence  again.  And  there's  another  thing  you  can  be 
thankful  for  now  that  you  are  in  a  thankful  mood,  and 
that  is  that  Mr.  Poe  will  be  at  Guy's  to-morrow,  and 
wants  to  see  me."  He  had  finished  filling  the  pipe 
bowl,  and  had  struck  a  match. 

The  boy's  eyes  danced.  Gadgem,  his  father,  his 
debts,  everything — was  forgotten. 

191 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad !     How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Here's  a  letter  from  him."     (Puff-puff.) 

"Andean  I  see  him?" 

"  Of  course  you  can  see  him!  We  will  have  him  to 
dinner,  my  boy !  Here  comes  Todd  with  your  coffee. 
Take  my  seat  so  I  can  talk  to  you  while  I  smoke." 


192 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Although  St.  George  dispensed  his  hospitality  with 
out  form  or  pretence,  never  referring  to  his  intended 
functions  except  in  a  casual  way,  the  news  of  so  unusun  1 
a  dinner  to  so  notorious  a  man  as  Edgar  Allan  Poo 
could  not  long  be  kept  quiet. 

While  a  few  habitue's  occupying  the  arm-chairs  on 
the  sidewalk  of  the  club  were  disappointed  at  not 
being  invited, — although  they  knew  that  ten  guests  had 
always  been  St.  George's  limit, — others  expressed  their 
disapproval  of  the  entire  performance  with  more  than 
a  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  Captain  Warfield  was  most 
outspoken.  "  Temple,"  he  said,  "  like  his  father,  is  a 
law  unto  himself,  and  always  entertains  the  queerest 
kind  of  people;  and  if  he  wants  to  do  honor  to  a 
man  of  that  stamp,  why  that,  of  course,  is  his  busi 
ness,  not  mine."  At  which  old  Tom  Purviance  had 
blurted  out — "And  a  shiftless  vagabond  too,  War- 
field,  if  what  I  hear  is  true.  Fine  subject  for  St. 
George  to  waste  his  Madeira  on!"  Purviance  had 
never  read  a  dozen  lines  of  anybody's  poetry  in  his 
life,  and  looked  upon  all  literary  men  as  no  better 
than  play  actors. 

It  was  then  that  Richard  Horn,  his  eyes  flashing, 
had  retorted: 

193 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"If  I  did  not  know  how  kind-hearted  you  were, 
Purviance,  and  how  thoughtless  you  can  sometimes 
be  in  your  criticisms,  I  might  ask  you  to  apologize  to 
both  Mr.  Poe  and  myself.  Would  it  surprise  you  to 
know  that  there  is  no  more  truth  in  what  you  say  than 
there  is  in  the  reports  of  that  gentleman's  habitual 
drunkenness  ?  It  was  but  a  year  ago  that  I  met  him 
at  his  cousin's  house  and  I  shall  never  forget  him. 
Would  it  also  surprise  you  to  learn  that  he  has  the  ap 
pearance  of  a  man  of  very  great  distinction  ? — that  he 
was  faultlessly  attired  in  a  full  suit  of  black  and  had 
the  finest  pair  of  eyes  in  his  head  I  have  ever  looked 
into  ?  Mr.  Poe  is  not  of  your  world,  or  of  mine — he  is 
above  it.  There  is  too  much  of  this  sort  of  ill-con 
sidered  judgment  abroad  in  the  land.  No — my  dear 
Purviance — I  don't  want  to  be  rude  and  I  am  sure  you 
will  not  think  I  am  personal.  I  am  only  trying  to  be 
just  to  one  of  the  master  spirits  of  our  time  so  that  I 
won't  be  humiliated  when  his  real  worth  becomes  a 
household  word." 

The  women  took  a  different  view. 

"I  can't  understand  what  Mr.  Temple  is  thinking 
of,"  said  the  wife  of  the  archdeacon  to  Mrs.  Cheston. 
"  This  Mr.  Poe  is  something  dreadful — never  sober,  I 
hear.  Mr.  Temple  is  invariably  polite  to  everybody, 
but  when  he  goes  out  of  his  way  to  do  honor  to  a  man 
like  this  he  only  makes  it  harder  for  those  of  us  who 
are  trying  to  help  our  sons  and  brothers — "  to  which 
Mrs.  Cheston  had  replied  with  a  twinkle  in  her  mouse 
eyes  and  a  toss  of  her  gray  head: — "So  was  Byron, 

194 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

my  dear  woman — a  very  dreadful  and  most  disrepu 
table  person,  but  I  can't  spare  him  from  my  library, 
nor  should  you." 

None  of  these  criticisms  would  have  affected  St. 
George  had  he  heard  them,  and  we  may  be  sure  no 
one  dared  tell  him.  He  was  too  busy,  in  fact — and 
so  was  Harry,  helping  him  for  that  matter — setting 
his  house  in  order  for  the  coming  function. 

That  the  table  itself  might  be  made  the  more  worthy 
of  the  great  man,  orders  were  given  that  the  big  silver 
loving-cup — the  one  presented  to  his  father  by  no  less 
a  person  than  the  Marquis  de  Castellux  himself— 
should  be  brought  out  to  be  filled  later  on  with  Cloth 
of  Gold  roses  so  placed  that  their  rich  color  and  fra 
grance  would  reach  both  the  eyes  and  the  nostrils  of 
his  guests,  while  the  rest  of  the  family  silver,  bright 
ened  to  a  mirror  finish  by  Todd,  was  either  sent  down 
to  Aunt  Jemima  to  be  ready  for  the  special  dishes  for 
which  the  house  was  famous,  or  disposed  on  the  side 
board  and  serving-table  for  instant  use  when  required. 
Easy-chairs  were  next  brought  from  upstairs — tobacco 
and  pipes,  with  wax  candles,  were  arranged  on  teak- 
wood  trays,  and  an  extra  dozen  or  so  of  bubble-blown 
glasses  banked  on  a  convenient  shelf.  The  banquet 
room  too,  for  it  was  late  summer,  was  kept  as  cool  as 
the  season  permitted,  the  green  shutters  being  closed, 
thus  barring  out  the  heat  of  early  September — and 
the  same  precaution  was  taken  in  the  dressing-room, 
which  was  to  serve  as  a  receptacle  for  hats  and  canes. 

And  Todd  as  usual  was  his  able  assistant.  All  the 
195 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

darky's  training  came  into  play  when  his  master  was 
giving  a  dinner:  what  Madeira  to  decant,  and  what 
to  leave  in  its  jacket  of  dust,  with  its  waistcoat  of  a 
label  unlaundered  for  half  a  century;  the  tempera 
ture  of  the  claret;  the  exact  angle  at  which  the  Bur 
gundy  must  be  tilted  and  when  it  was  to  be  opened — 
and  how — especially  the  "how" — the  disturbing  of  a 
single  grain  of  sediment  being  a  capital  offence;  the 
final  brandies,  particularly  that  old  Peach  Brandy 
hidden  in  Tom  Coston's  father's  cellar  during  the  war 
of  1812,  and  sent  to  that  gentleman  as  an  especial 
"  mark  of  my  appreciation  to  my  dear  friend  and  kins 
man,  St.  George  Wilmot  Temple,"  etc.,  etc. — all  this 
Todd  knew  to  his  finger  ends. 

For  with  St.  George  to  dine  meant  something  more 
than  the  mere  satisfying  of  one's  hunger.  To  dine 
meant  to  get  your  elbows  next  to  your  dearest  friend — 
half  a  dozen  or  more  of  your  dearest  friends,  if  possible 
— to  look  into  their  faces,  hear  them  talk,  regale  them 
with  the  best  your  purse  afforded,  and  last  and  best 
of  all  to  open  for  them  your  rarest  wines — wines  bred 
in  the  open,  amid  tender,  clustering  leaves;  wines 
mellowed  by  a  thousand  sunbeams;  nurtured,  cared 
for,  and  put  tenderly  to  sleep,  only  to  awake  years 
thereafter  to  warm  the  hearts  and  cheer  the  souls  of 
those  who  honored  them  with  their  respect  and  never 
degraded  them  with  their  debauchery. 

As  for  the  dishes  themselves — here  St.  George  with 
Jemima's  help  was  pastmaster:  dishes  sizzling  hot; 
dishes  warm,  and  dishes  stone  cold.  And  their  several 

196 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

arrivals  and  departures,  accompanied  by  their  several 
staffs:  the  soup  as  an  advance  guard — of  gumbo  or 
clams — or  both  if  you  chose;  then  a  sheepshead 
caught  off  Cobb's  Island  the  day  before,  just  arrived 
by  the  day  boat,  with  potatoes  that  would  melt  in  your 
mouth — in  gray  jackets  these;  then  soft-shell  crabs — 
big,  crisp  fellows,  with  fixed  bayonets  of  legs,  and 
orderlies  of  cucumber — the  first  served  on  a  huge  silver 
platter  with  the  coat-of-arms  of  the  Temples  cut  in  the 
centre  of  the  rim  and  the  last  on  an  old  English  cut- 
glass  dish.  Then  the  woodcock  and  green  peas — and 
green  corn — their  teeth  in  a  broad  grin;  then  an  olio 
of  pineapple,  and  a  wonderful  Cheshire  cheese,  just 
arrived  in  a  late  invoice — and  marvellous  crackers — 
and  coffee — and  fruit  (cantaloupes  and  peaches  that 
would  make  your  mouth  water),  then  nuts,  and  last  a 
few  crusts  of  dry  bread!  And  here  everything  came 
to  a  halt  and  all  the  troops  were  sent  back  to  the  bar 
racks — (Aunt  Jemima  will  do  for  the  barracks). 

With  this  there  was  to  follow  a  change  of  base — 
a  most  important  change.  Everything  eatable  and 
drinkable  and  all  the  glasses  and  dishes  were  to  be 
lifted  from  the  table — one  half  at  a  time — the  cloth 
rolled  back  and  whisked  away  and  the  polished  ma 
hogany  laid  bare;  the  silver  coasters  posted  in  ad 
vantageous  positions,  and  in  was  to  rattle  the  light 
artillery:— Black  Warrior  of  1810— Port  of  1815— a 
Royal  Brown  Sherry  that  nobody  knew  anything 
about,  and  had  no  desire  to,  so  fragrant  was  it.  Last 
of  all  the  notched  finger-bowls  in  which  to  cool  the 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

delicate,  pipe-stem  glasses;  and  then,  and  only  then, 
did  the  real  dinner  begin. 

All  this  Todd  had  done  dozens  and  dozens  of  times 
before,  and  all  this  (with  Malachi's  assistance — Rich 
ard  Horn  consenting — for  there  was  nothing  too  good 
for  the  great  poet)  would  Todd  do  again  on  this  event 
ful  night. 

As  to  the  guests,  this  particular  feast  being  given  to 
the  most  distinguished  literary  genius  the  country  had 
yet  produced, — certainly  the  most  talked  of — those 
who  were  bidden  were,  of  course,  selected  with  more 
than  usual  care:  Mr.  John  P.  Kennedy,  the  widely 
known  author  and  statesman,  and  Mr.  John  H.  B. 
Latrobe,  equally  noteworthy  as  counsellor,  mathema 
tician,  and  patron  of  the  fine  arts,  both  of  whom  had 
been  Foe's  friends  for  years,  and  who  had  first  recog 
nized  his  genius;  Richard  Horn,  who  never  lost  an 
opportunity  to  praise  him,  together  with  Judge  Pan- 
coast,  Major  Clayton,  the  richest  aristocrat  about 
Kennedy  Square  and  whose  cellar  was  famous  the 
county  over — and  last,  the  Honorable  Prim.  Not  be 
cause  old  Seymour  possessed  any  especial  fitness  one 
way  or  the  other  for  a  dinner  of  this  kind,  but  because 
his  presence  would  afford  an  underground  communi 
cation  by  which  Kate  could  learn  how  fine  and  splen 
did  Harry  was — (sly  old  diplomat  St.  George!) — and 
how  well  he  had  appeared  at  a  table  about  which  were 
seated  the  best  Kennedy  Square  could  produce. 

"  I'll  put  you  right  opposite  Mr.  Poe,  Harry — so  you 
can  study  him  at  your  leisure,"  St.  George  had  said 

198 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

when  discussing  the  placing  of  the  guests,  "and  be 
sure  you  look  at  his  hands,  they  are  just  like  a  girl's, 
they  are  so  soft  and  white.  And  his  eyes — you  will 
never  forget  them.  And  there  is  an  air  about  him  too 
— an  air  of — well,  a  sort  of  haughty  distraction — some 
thing  I  can't  quite  explain — as  if  he  had  a  contempt 
for  small  things — things  that  you  and  I,  and  your 
father  and  all  of  us  about  here,  believe  in.  Blood  or 
no  blood,  he's  a  gentleman,  even  if  he  does  come  of 
very  plain  people; — and  they  were  players  I  hear.  It 
seems  natural,  when  you  think  it  over,  that  Latrobe 
and  Kennedy  and  Horn  should  be  men  of  genius,  be 
cause  their  blood  entitles  them  to  it,  but  how  a  man 
raised  as  Mr.  Poe  has  been  should — well — all  I  can 
say  is  that  he  upsets  all  our  theories." 

"But  I  think  you  are  wrong,  Uncle  George,  about 
his  birth.  I've  been  looking  him  up  and  his  grand 
father  was  a  general  in  the  Revolution." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  of  it — and  I  hope  he  was  a  very 
good  general,  and  very  much  of  a  gentleman — but 
there  is  no  question  of  his  descendant  being  a  wonder. 
But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there — you'll  be  right  oppo 
site  and  can  study  him  in  your  own  way." 

Mr.  Kennedy  arrived  first.  Although  his  family 
name  is  the  same  as  that  which  dignifies  the  scene  of 
these  chronicles,  none  of  his  ancestors,  so  far  as  I 
know,  were  responsible  for  its  title.  Nor  did  his  own 
domicile  front  on  its  confines.  In  fact,  at  this  period 
of  his  varied  and  distinguished  life,  he  was  seldom 

199 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

seen  in  Kennedy  Square,  his  duties  at  Washington 
occupying  all  his  time,  and  it  was  by  the  merest  chance 
that  he  could  be  present. 

"Ah,  St.  George!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  handed  his 
hat  to  Todd  and  grasped  his  host's  hand.  "So  very 
good  of  you  to  let  me  come.  How  cool  and  delicious 
it  is  in  here — and  the  superb  roses —  Ah  yes! — the 
old  Castellux  cup.  I  remember  it  perfectly;  your 
father  once  gave  me  a  sip  from  its  rim  when  I  was  a 
young  fellow.  And  now  tell  me — how  is  our  genius  ? 
What  a  master-stroke  is  his  last — the  whole  country 
is  ringing  with  it.  How  did  you  get  hold  of  him?" 

"  Very  easily.  He  wrote  me  he  was  passing  through 
on  his  way  to  Richmond,  and  you  naturally  popped 
into  my  head  as  the  proper  man  to  sit  next  him,"  re 
plied  St.  George  in  his  hearty  manner. 

"  And  you  were  on  top  of  him,  I  suppose,  before  he 
got  out  of  bed.  Safer,  sometimes,"  and  he  smiled 
significantly. 

"Yes,  found  him  at  Guy's.  Sit  here,  Kennedy, 
where  the  air  is  cooler." 

"  And  quite  himself  ?  "  continued  the  author,  settling 
himself  in  a  chair  that  St.  George  had  just  drawn  out 
for  him. 

"  Perhaps  a  little  thinner,  and  a  little  worn.  It  was 
only  when  I  told  him  you  were  coming,  that  I  got  a 
smile  out  of  him.  He  never  forgets  you  and  he  never 
should." 

Again  Todd  answered  the  knocker  and  Major  Clay 
ton,  Richard  Horn,  and  Mr.  Latrobe  joined  the  group. 

200 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

The  major,  who  was  rather  stout,  apologized  for  his 
light  seersucker  coat,  due,  as  he  explained,  to  the  heat, 
although  his  other  garments  were  above  criticism. 
Richard,  however,  looked  as  if  he  had  just  stepped 
out  of  an  old  portrait  in  his  dull-blue  coat  and  white  silk 
scarf,  St.  George's  eyes  lighting  up  as  he  took  in  the 
combination — nothing  pleased  St.  George  so  much  as 
a  well-dressed  man,  and  Richard  never  disappointed 
him,  while  Latrobe,  both  in  his  dress  and  dignified 
bearing,  easily  held  first  place  as  the  most  distinguished 
looking  man  in  the  room. 

The  Honorable  Prim  now  stalked  in  and  shook 
hands  gravely  and  with  much  dignity,  especially  with 
Mr.  Kennedy,  whose  career  as  a  statesman  he  had 
always  greatly  admired.  St.  George  often  said,  in 
speaking  of  this  manner  of  the  Scotchman's,  that 
Prim's  precise  pomposity  was  entirely  due  to  the  fact 
that  he  had  swallowed  himself  and  couldn't  digest 
the  meal;  that  if  he  would  once  in  a  while  let  out  a 
big,  hearty  laugh  it  might  split  his  skin  wide  enough 
for  him  to  get  a  natural  breath. 

St.  George  kept  his  eyes  on  Harry  when  the  boy 
stepped  forward  and  shook  Prim  by  the  hand,  but 
he  had  no  need  for  anxiety.  The  face  of  the  young 
prince  lighted  up  and  his  manner  was  as  gracious  as 
if  nothing  had  ever  occurred  to  mar  the  harmony  be 
tween  the  Seymour  clan  and  himself. 

Everybody  had  seated  themselves  now — Malachi 
having  passed  around  a  course  of  palm-leaf  fans — 
Clayton,  Latrobe,  and  Horn  at  one  open  window  over- 

201 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

looking  the  tired  trees — it  was  in  the  dog  days — Sey 
mour  and  the  judge  at  the  other,  while  St.  George 
took  a  position  so  that  he  could  catch  the  first  glimpse 
of  the  famous  poet  as  he  crossed  the  Square — (it 
was  still  light),  the  dinner  hour  having  arrived  and 
Todd  already  getting  nervous. 

Once  more  the  talk  dwelt  on  the  guest  of  honor — 
Mr.  Kennedy,  who,  of  all  men  of  his  time,  could  best 
appreciate  Poe's  genius,  and  who,  with  Mr.  Latrobe, 
had  kept  it  alive,  telling  for  the  hundredth  time  the 
old  story  of  his  first  meeting  with  the  poet,  turning 
now  and  then  to  Latrobe  for  confirmation. 

"  Oh,  some  ten  or  more  years  ago,  wasn't  it,  La 
trobe?  We  happened  to  be  on  the  committee  for 
awarding  a  prize  story,  and  Poe  had  sent  in  his  '  Man 
uscript  in  a  Bottle*  among  others.  It  would  have 
broken  your  hearts,  gentlemen,  to  have  seen  him.  His 
black  coat  was  buttoned  up  close  to  his  chin — seedy, 
badly  worn — he  himself  shabby  and  down  at  the  heels, 
but  erect  and  extremely  courteous — a  most  pitiable 
object.  My  servant  wasn't  going  to  let  him  in  at  first, 
he  looked  so  much  the  vagrant." 

"And  you  know,  of  course,  Kennedy,  that  he  had 
no  shirt  on  under  that  coat,  don't  you?"  rejoined 
Latrobe,  rising  from  his  seat  as  he  spoke  and  joining 
St.  George  at  the  window. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  echoed  Mr.  Kennedy. 

"I  am  positive  of  it.  He  came  to  see  me  next  day 
and  wanted  me  to  let  him  know  whether  he  had  been 
successful.  He  said  if  the  committee  only  knew  how 

202 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

much  the  prize  would  mean  to  him  they  would  stretch 
a  point  in  his  favor.  I  am  quite  sure  I  told  you 
about  it  at  the  time,  St.  George,"  and  he  laid  his 
hand  on  his  host's  shoulder. 

"There  was  no  need  of  stretching  it,  Latrobe," 
remarked  Richard  Horn  in  his  low,  incisive  voice,  his 
eyes  on  Kennedy's  face,  although  he  was  speaking  to 
the  counsellor.  "You  and  Kennedy  did  the  world  a 
great  service  at  the  right  moment.  Many  a  man  of 
brains — one  with  something  new  to  say — has  gone  to 
the  wall  and  left  his  fellow  men  that  much  poorer 
because  no  one  helped  him  into  the  Pool  of  Healing 
at  the  right  moment."  (Dear  Richard! — he  was  al 
ready  beginning  to  understand  something  of  this  in  his 
own  experience.) 

Todd's  entrance  interrupted  the  talk  for  a  moment. 
His  face  was  screwed  up  into  knots,  both  eyes  lost  in 
the  deepest  crease.  "Fo'  Gawd,  Marse  George,"  he 
whispered  in  his  master's  ear — "dem  woodcock'll  be 
sp'iled  if  dat  gemman  don't  come!" 

St.  George  shook  his  head:  "We  will  wait  a  few 
minutes  more,  Todd.  Tell  Aunt  Jemima  what  I 
say." 

Clayton,  who  despite  the  thinness  of  his  seersucker 
coat,  had  kept  his  palm-leaf  fan  busy  since  he  had  taken' 
his  seat,  and  who  had  waited  until  his  host's  ear  was 
again  free,  now  broke  in  cheerily: 

"Same  old  story  of  course,  St.  George.  Another 
genius  gone  astray.  Bad  business,  this  bee  of  litera 
ture,  once  it  gets  to  buzzing."  Then  with  a  quizzical 

203 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

glance  at  the  author:  "Kennedy  is  a  lamentable  ex 
ample  of  what  it  has  done  for  him.  He  started  out 
as  a  soldier,  dropped  into  law,  and  now  is  trying  to 
break  into  Congress  again — and  all  the  time  writes — 
writes — writes.  It  has  spoiled  everything  he  has  tried 
to  do  in  life — and  it  will  spoil  everything  he  touches 
from  this  on — and  now  comes  along  this  man  Poe, 
who " 

" — No,  he  doesn't  come  along,"  chimed  in  Pan- 
coast,  who  so  far  had  kept  silence,  his  palm-leaf 
fan  having  done  all  the  talking.  "I  wish  he 
would." 

"  You  are  right,  judge,"  chuckled  Clayton,  "  and  that 
is  just  my  point.  Here  I  say,  comes  along  this  man 
Poe  and  spoils  my  dinner.  Something,  I  tell  you, 
has  got  to  be  done  or  I  shall  collapse.  By  the  way, 
Kennedy — didn't  you  send  Poe  a  suit  of  clothes  once 
in  which  to  come  to  your  house?" 

The  distinguished  statesman,  who  had  been  smil 
ing  at  the  major's  good-natured  badinage,  made  no 
reply:  that  was  a  matter  between  the  poet  and 
himself. 

"  And  didn't  he  keep  everybody  waiting  ?"  persisted 
Clayton,  "  until  your  man  found  him  and  brought  him 
back  in  your  own  outfit — only  the  shirt  was  four  sizes 
too  big  for  his  bean-pole  of  a  body.  Am  I  right?" 
he  laughed. 

"He  has  often  dined  with  me,  Clayton,"  replied 
Kennedy  in  his  most  courteous  and  kindly  tone,  ignor 
ing  the  question  as  well  as  all  allusion  to  his  charity 

204 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

— "and  never  in  all  my  experience  have  I  ever  met  a 
more  dazzling  conversationalist.  Start  him  on  one  of 
his  weird  tales  and  let  him  see  that  you  are  interested 
and  in  sympathy  with  him,  and  you  will  never  forget 
it.  He  gave  us  parts  of  an  unfinished  story  one  night 
at  my  house,  so  tremendous  in  its  power  that  every  one 
was  frozen  stiff  in  his  seat." 

Again  Clayton  cut  in,  this  time  to  St.  George. 
He  was  getting  horribly  hungry,  as  were  the  others. 
It  was  now  twenty  minutes  past  the  dinner  hour  and 
there  were  still  no  signs  of  Poe,  nor  had  any  word 
come  from  him.  "  For  mercy's  sake,  St.  George,  try 
the  suit-of-clothes  method — any  suit  of  clothes — here 
— he  can  have  mine!  I'll  be  twice  as  comfortable 
without  them." 

"He  couldn't  get  into  them,"  returned  St.  George 
with  a  smile — "nor  could  he  into  mine,  although  he 
is  half  our  weight;  and  as  for  our  hats — they  wouldn't 
get  further  down  on  his  head  than  the  top  of  his 
crown." 

"  But  I  insist  on  the  experiment,"  bubbled  Clayton 
good-naturedly.  "Here  we  are,  hungry  as  wolves 
and  everything  being  burned  up.  Try  the  suit-of- 
clothes  trick — Kennedy  did  it — and  it  won't  take  your 
Todd  ten  minutes  to  go  to  Guy's  and  bring  him  back 
inside  of  them." 

"  Those  days  are  over  for  Poe,"  Kennedy  remarked 
with  a  slight  frown.  The  major's  continued  allusions 
to  a  brother  writer's  poverty,  though  pure  badinage, 
had  begun  to  jar  on  the  author. 

205 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

For  the  second  time  Todd's  face  was  thrust  in  at 
the  door.  It  now  looked  like  a  martyr's  being  slowly 
roasted  at  the  stake. 

"Yes,  Todd— serve  dinner!"  called  St.  George  in 
a  tone  that  showed  how  great  was  his  disappointment. 
"We  won't  wait  any  longer,  gentlemen.  Geniuses 
must  be  allowed  some  leeway.  Something  has  de* 
tained  our  guest." 

"He's  got  an  idea  in  his  head  and  has  stopped  in 
somewhere  to  write  it  down,"  continued  Clayton  in  his 
habitual  good-natured  tone:  it  was  the  overdone  wood 
cock — (he  had  heard  Todd's  warning) — that  still  filled 
his  mind. 

"I  could  forgive  him  for  that,"  exclaimed  the 
judge — "some  of  his  best  work,  I  hear,  has  been 
done  on  the  spur  of  the  moment — and  you  should 
forgive  him  too,  Clayton — unbeliever  and  iconoclast 
as  you  are — and  you  would  forgive  him  if  you  knew 
as  much  about  new  poetry  as  you  do  about  old 
port." 

Clayton's  stout  body  shook  with  laughter.  "My 
dear  Pancoast,"  he  cried,  "you  do  not  know  what  you 
are  talking  about.  No  man  living  or  dead  should  be 
forgiven  who  keeps  a  woodcock  on  the  spit  five  min 
utes  over  time.  Forgive  him!  Why,  my  dear  sir, 
your  poet  ought  to  be  drawn  and  quartered,  and 
what  is  left  of  him  boiled  in  oil.  Where  shall  I  sit, 
St.  George?" 

"  Alongside  of  Latrobe.  Kennedy,  I  -shall  put  you 
next  to  Poe's  vacant  chair — he  knows  and  loves  you 

206 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

best.    Seymour,  will  you  and  Richard  take  your  places 
alongside  of  Pancoast,  and  Harry,  will  you  please  sit 
opposite  Mr.  Kennedy?" 
And  so  the  dinner  began. 


207 


CHAPTER  XV 

Whether  it  was  St.  George's  cheery  announcement: 
"Well,  gentlemen,  I  am  sorry,  but  we  still  have  each 
other,  and  so  we  will  remember  our  guest  in  our  hearts 
even  if  we  cannot  have  his  charming  person,"  or 
whether  it  was  that  the  absence  of  Poe  made  little 
difference  when  a  dinner  with  St.  George  was  in  ques 
tion — certain  it  is  that  before  many  moments  the  de 
linquent  poet  was  for  the  most  part  forgotten. 

As  the  several  dishes  passed  in  review,  Malachi  in 
charge  of  the  small  arms — plates,  knives,  and  forks — 
and  Todd  following  with  the  heavier  guns — silver 
platters  and  the  like — the  talk  branched  out  to  more 
diversified  topics :  the  new  omnibuses  which  had  been 
allowed  to  run  in  the  town;  the  serious  financial  situ 
ation,  few  people  having  recovered  from  the  effects 
of  the  last  great  panic;  the  expected  reception  to  Mr. 
Polk;  the  new  Historical  Society,  of  which  every  one 
present  was  a  member  except  St.  George  and  Harry; 
the  successful  experiments  which  the  New  York 
painter,  a  Mr.  Morse,  was  making  in  what  he  was 
pleased  to  call  Magnetic  Telegraphy,  and  the  absurd 
ity  of  his  claim  that  his  invention  would  soon  come 
into  general  use — every  one  commenting  unfavorably 
except  Richard  Horn: — all  these  shuttlecocks  being 

208 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

tossed  into  mid-air  for  each  battledore  to  crack,  and 
all  these,  with  infinite  tact  the  better  to  hide  his  own 
and  his  companions'  disappointment  over  the  loss  of 
his  honored  guest — did  St.  George  keep  on  the  move. 
With  the  shifting  of  the  cloth  and  the  placing  of  the 
coasters— the  nuts,  crusts  of  bread,  and  finger-bowls 
being  within  easy  reach — most  of  this  desultory  talk 
ceased.  Something  more  delicate,  more  human,  more 
captivating  than  sport,  finance,  or  politics;  more  satis 
fying  than  all  the  poets  who  ever  lived,  filled  every 
body's  mind.  Certain  Rip  Van  Winkles  of  bottles 
with  tattered  garments,  dust-begrimed  faces,  and  cob 
webs  in  their  hair  were  lifted  tenderly  from  the  side 
board  and  awakened  to  consciousness  (some  of  them 
hadn't  opened  their  mouths  for  twenty  years,  except 
to  have  them  immediately  stopped  with  a  new  cork), 
and  placed  in  the  expectant  coasters,  Todd  handling 
each  one  with  the  reverence  of  a  priest  serving  in  a 
temple.  Crusty,  pot-bellied  old  fellows,  who  hadn't 
uttered  a  civil  word  to  anybody  since  they  had  been 
shut  up  in  their  youth,  now  laughed  themselves  wide 
open.  A  squat,  lean-necked,  jolly  little  jug  without 
legs — labelled  in  ink — "Crab-apple,  1807,"  spread 
himself  over  as  much  of  the  mahogany  as  he  could 
cover,  and  admired  his  fat  shape  upside  down  in  its 
polish.  Diamond-cut  decanters — regular  swells  these 
— with  silver  chains  and  medals  on  their  chests — went 
swaggering  round,  boasting  of  their  ancestors;  saying 
"Your  good  health"  every  time  any  one  invited  them 
to  have  a  drop — or  lose  one — while  a  modest  little 

209 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

demijohn — or  rather  a  semi-demi-little-john — all  in  his 
wicker-basket  clothes,  with  a  card  sewed  on  his  jacket 
— like  a  lost  boy  (Peggy  Coston  of  Wesley  did  the 
sewing)  bearing  its  name  and  address — "Old  Peach, 
1796,  Wesley,  Eastern  Shore,"  was  placed  on  St. 
George's  right  within  reach  of  his  hand.  "  It  reminds 
me  of  the  dear  woman  herself,  gentleman,  in  her 
homely  outside  and  her  warm,  loving  heart  underneath, 
and  I  wouldn't  change  any  part  of  it  for  the  world." 

"What  Madeira  is  this,  St.  George?"  It  was  the 
judge  who  was  speaking — he  had  not  yet  raised  the 
thin  glass  to  his  lips;  the  old  wine-taster  was  too  ab 
sorbed  in  its  rich  amber  color  and  in  the  delicate 
aroma,  which  was  now  reaching  his  nostrils.  Indeed 
a  new — several  new  fragrances,  were  by  this  time 
permeating  the  room. 

"It  is  the  same,  judge,  that  I  always  give  you." 

"Not  your  father's  Black  Warrior?" 

"Yes,  the  1810.  Don't  you  recognize  it?  Not 
corked,  is  it?" 

"  Corked,  my  dear  man!  It's  a  posy  of  roses.  But 
I  thought  that  was  all  gone." 

"No,  there  are  a  few  bottles  still  in  my  cellar — 
some —  How  many  are  there,  Todd,  of  the  Black 
Warrior?" 

"  Dat's  de  las'  'cept  two,  Marse  George." 

"Dying  in  a  good  cause,  judge — I'll  send  them  to 
you  to-morrow." 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  you  spendthrift. 
Give  them  to  Kennedy  or  Clayton." 

210 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"No,  give  them  to  nobody!"    laughed  Kennedy. 
"Keep  them  where  they  are  and  don't  let  anybody 
draw  either  cork  until  you  invite  me  to  dinner  again." 

"Only  two  bottles  left,"  cried  Latrobe  in  conster 
nation!  "Well,  what  the  devil  are  we  going  to  do 
when  they  are  gone  ? — what's  anybody  going  to  do  ?  " 
The  "we"  was  the  key  to  the  situation.  The  good 
Madeira  of  Kennedy  Square  was  for  those  who  honored 
it,  and  in  that  sense — and  that  sense  only — was  com 
mon  property. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  Latrobe,"  laughed  St.  George 
—"I've  got  a  lot  of  the  Blackburn  Reserve  of  1812 
left.  Todd,  serve  that  last  bottle  I  brought  up  this 
morning — I  put  it  in  that  low  decanter  next  to —  Ah, 
Malachi — you  are  nearest.  Pass  that  to  Mr.  Latrobe, 
Malachi —  Yes,  that's  the  one.  Now  tell  me  how 
you  like  it.  It  is  a  little  pricked,  I  think,  and  may  be 
slightly  bruised  in  the  handling.  I  spent  half  an 
hour  picking  out  the  cork  this  morning — but  there  is 
no  question  of  its  value." 

"Yes,"  rejoined  Latrobe,  moistening  his  lips  with 
the  topaz-colored  liquid — "it  is  a  little  bruised.  I 
wouldn't  have  served  it — better  lay  it  aside  for  a  month 
or  two  in  the  decanter.  Are  all  your  corks  down  to 
that,  St.  George?" 

"AH  the  1810  and  '12— dry  as  powder  some  of 
them.  I've  got  one  over  on  the  sideboard  that  I'm 
afraid  to  tackle" — here  he  turned  to  Clayton:  "Ma 
jor,  you  are  the  only  man  I  know  who  can  pick  out  a 
cork  properly.  Yes,  Todd — the  bottle  at  the  end, 

211 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

next  to  that  Burgundy — carefully  now.     Don't  shake 
it,  and " 

"  Well — but  why  don't  you  draw  the  cork  yourself, 
St.  George?"  interrupted  the  major,  his  eyes  on 
Todd,  who  was  searching  for  the  rarity  among  the 
others  flanking  the  sideboard. 

"I  dare  not — that  is,  I'm  afraid  to  try.  You  are 
the  man  for  a  cork  like  that — and  Todd ! — hand  Major 
Clayton  the  corkscrew  and  one  of  those  silver  nut- 
picks." 

The  Honorable  Prim  bent  closer.  "What  is  it, 
St.  George,  some  old  Port?"  he  asked  in  a  perfunc 
tory  way.  Rare  old  wines  never  interested  him. 
"They  are  an  affectation,"  he  used  to  say. 

"No,  Seymour — it's  really  a  bottle  of  the  Peter 
Remsen  1817  Madeira. 

The  bottle  was  passed,  every  eye  watching  it  with 
the  greatest  interest. 

"No,  never  mind  the  corkscrew,  Todd, — I'll  pick 
it  out,"  remarked  the  major,  examining  the  hazardous 
cork  with  the  care  of  a  watchmaker  handling  a  broken- 
down  chronometer.  "You're  right,  St.  George — it's 
too  far  gone.  Don't  watch  me,  Seymour,  or  I'll  get 
nervous.  You'll  hoodoo  it — you  Scotchmen  are  the 
devil  when  it  comes  to  anything  fit  to  drink,"  and  he 
winked  at  Prim. 

"How  much  is  there  left  of  it,  St.  George?"  asked 
Latrobe,  watching  the  major  manipulate  the  nut- 
pick. 

"Not  a  drop  outside  that  bottle." 
212 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Let  us  pray — for  the  cork,"  sighed  Latrobe. 
"Easy — e-a-sy,  major — think  of  your  responsibility, 
man!" 

It  was  out  now,  the  major  dusting  the  opening  with 
one  end  of  his  napkin — his  face  wreathed  in  smiles 
when  his  nostrils  caught  the  first  whiff  of  its  aroma. 

"By  Jupiter! — gentlemen! —  When  I'm  being 
snuffed  out  I'll  at  least  go  like  a  gentleman  if  I  have 
a  drop  of  this  on  my  lips.  It's  a  bunch  of  roses — 
a  veritable  nosegay.  Heavens! — what  a  bouquet! 
Some  fresh  glasses,  Todd." 

Malachi  and  Todd  both  stepped  forward  for  the 
honor  of  serving  it,  but  the  major  waved  them  aside, 
and  rising  to  his  feet  began  the  round  of  the  table, 
filling  each  slender  pipe-stem  glass  to  the  brim. 

Then  the  talk,  which  had  long  since  drifted  away 
from  general  topics,  turned  to  the  color  and  sparkle  of 
some  of  the  more  famous  wines  absorbed  these  many 
years  by  their  distinguished  votaries.  This  was  fol 
lowed  by  the  proper  filtration  and  racking  both  of 
Ports  and  Madeiras,  and  whether  milk  or  egg  were 
best  for  the  purpose — Kennedy  recounting  his  ex 
perience  of  different  vintages  both  here  and  abroad, 
the  others  joining  in,  and  all  with  the  same  intense 
interest  that  a  group  of  scientists  or  collectors  would 
have  evinced  in  discussing  some  new  discovery  in 
chemistry  or  physics,  or  the  coming  to  light  of  some 
rare  volume  long  since  out  of  print — everybody,  indeed, 
taking  a  hand  in  the  discussion  except  Latrobe,  whose 
mouth  was  occupied  in  the  slow  sipping  of  his  favorite 

213 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Madeira — tilting  a  few  drops  now  and  then  on  the  end 
of  his  tongue,  his  eyes  devoutly  closed  that  he  might  the 
better  relish  its  flavor  and  aroma. 

It  was  all  an  object  lesson  to  Harry,  who  had  never 
been  to  a  dinner  of  older  men — not  even  at  his  father's 
— and  though  at  first  he  smiled  at  what  seemed  to  him 
a  great  fuss  over  nothing,  he  finally  began  to  take  a 
broader  view.  Wine,  then,  was  like  food  or  music,  or 
poetry — or  good-fellowship — something  to  be  enjoyed 
in  its  place — and  never  out  of  it.  For  all  that,  he  had 
allowed  no  drop  of  anything  to  fall  into  his  own  glass 
— a  determination  which  Todd  understood  perfectly, 
but  which  he  as  studiously  chose  to  ignore — going 
through  all  the  motions  of  filling  the  glass  so  as  not  to 
cause  Marse  Harry  any  embarrassment.  Even  the 
"1817"  was  turned  down  by  the  young  man  with  a 
parrying  gesture  which  caught  the  alert  eyes  of  the 
major. 

"You  are  right,  my  boy,"  the  bon  vivant  said  sen- 
tentiously.  "It  is  a  wine  for  old  men.  But  look 
after  your  stomach,  you  dog — or  you  may  wake  up 
some  fine  morning  and  not  be  able  to  know  good 
Madeira  from  bad.  You  young  bloods,  with  your 
vile  concoctions  of  toddies,  punches,  and  other  Satanic 
brews,  are  fast  going  to  the  devil — your  palates,  I  am 
speaking  of.  If  you  ever  saw  the  inside  of  a  distillery 
you  would  never  drink  another  drop  of  whiskey. 
There's  poison  in  every  thimbleful.  There's  sunshine 
in  this,  sir!"  and  he  held  the  glass  to  his  eyes  until  the 
light  of  the  candles  flashed  through  it. 

214 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  But  I've  never  seen  the  inside  or  outside  of  a  dis 
tillery  in  my  life,"  answered  Harry  with  a  laugh,  a 
reply  which  did  not  in  the  least  quench  the  major's 
enthusiasms,  who  went  on  dilating,  wine-glass  in  hand, 
on  the  vulgarity  of  drinking  standing  up — the  habitual 
custom  of  whiskey  tipplers — in  contrast  with  the  re 
finement  of  sipping  wines  sitting  down — one  being 
a  vice  and  the  other  a  virtue. 

Richard,  too,  had  been  noticing  Harry.  He  had 
overheard,  as  the  dinner  progressed,  a  remark  the  boy 
had  made  to  the  guest  next  him,  regarding  the  peculiar 
rhythm  of  Poe's  verse — Harry  repeating  the  closing 
lines  of  the  poem  with  such  keen  appreciation  of  their 
meaning  that  Richard  at  once  joined  in  the  talk,  com 
mending  him  for  his  insight  and  discrimination.  He 
had  always  supposed  that  Rutter's  son,  like  all  the 
younger  bloods  of  his  time,  had  abandoned  his  books 
when  he  left  college  and  had  affected  horses  and 
dogs  instead.  The  discovery  ended  in  his  scrutinizing 
Harry's  face  the  closer,  reading  between  the  lines — 
his  father  here,  his  mother  there — until  a  quick  knitting 
of  the  brows,  and  a  flash  from  out  the  deep-brown  eyes, 
upset  all  his  preconceived  opinions;  he  had  expected 
grit  and  courage  in  the  boy — there  couldn't  help 
being  that  when  one  thought  of  his  father — but  where 
did  the  lad  get  his  imagination?  Richard  wondered 
— that  which  millions  could  not  purchase.  "A  most 
engaging  young  man  in  spite  of  his  madcap  life,"  he 
said  to  himself — "I  don't  wonder  St.  George  loves 
him," 

215 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

When  the  bell  in  the  old  church  struck  the  hour  of 
ten,  Harry  again  turned  to  Richard  and  said  with  a 
sigh  of  disappointment: 

"Fm  afraid  it's  too  late  to  expect  him — don't  you 
think  so?" 

"Yes,  I  fear  so,"  rejoined  Richard,  who  all  through 
the  dinner  had  never  ceased  to  bend  his  ear  to  every 
sound,  hoping  for  the  rumble  of  wheels  or  the  quick 
step  of  a  man  in  the  hall.  "  Something  extraordinary 
must  have  happened  to  him,  or  he  may  have  been 
called  suddenly  to  Richmond  and  taken  the  steam 
boat."  Then  leaning  toward  his  host  he  called  across 
the  table:  "Might  I  make  a  suggestion,  St.  George?" 

St.  George  paused  in  his  talk  with  Mr.  Kennedy 
and  Latrobe  and  raised  his  head: 

"Well,  Richard?" 

"  I  was  just  saying  to  young  Rutter  here,  that  per 
haps  Mr.  Poe  has  been  called  suddenly  to  Richmond 
and  has  sent  you  a  note  which  has  not  reached  you." 

"  Or  he  might  be  ill,"  suggested  Harry  in  his  anxiety 
to  leave  no  loophole  through  which  the  poet  could 
escape. 

"Or  he  might  be  ill,"  repeated  Richard — "quite 
true.  Now  would  you  mind  if  I  sent  Malachi  to  Guy's 
to  find  out?" 

"No,  Richard— but  I'll  send  Todd.  We  can  get 
along,  I  expect,  with  Malachi  until  he  gets  back. 
Todd!" 

"Yes,  sah." 

"  You  go  to  Guy's  and  ask  Mr.  Lampson  if  Mr.  Poe 
216 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

is  still  in  the  hotel.  If  he  is  not  there  ask  for  any  letter 
addressed  to  me  and  then  come  back.  If  he  is  in, 
go  up  to  his  room  and  present  my  compliments,  and 
say  we  are  waiting  dinner  for  him." 

Todd's  face  lengthened,  but  he  missed  no  word  of 
his  master's  instructions.  Apart  from  these  his  mind 
was  occupied  with  the  number  of  minutes  it  would 
take  him  to  run  all  the  way  to  Guy's  Hotel,  mount  the 
steps,  deliver  his  message,  and  race  back  again.  Mal- 
achi,  who  was  nearly  twice  his  age,  and  who  had  had 
twice  his  experience,  might  be  all  right  until  he  reached 
that  old  Burgundy,  but  "dere  warn't  nobody  could 
handle  dem  corks  but  Todd;  Malachi'd  bust  'em 
sho'  and  spile  'em  'fo'  he  could  git  back." 

"  'Spose  dere  ain't  no  gemman  and  no  letter,  den 
what?"  he  asked  as  a  last  resort. 

"Then  come  straight  home." 

"Yes,  sah,"  and  he  backed  regretfully  from  the 
room  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

St.  George  turned  to  Horn  again:  "  Very  good  idea, 
Richard — wonder  I  hadn't  thought  of  it  before.  I 
should  probably  had  I  not  expected  him  every  minute. 
And  he  was  so  glad  to  come.  He  told  me  he  had  never 
forgotten  the  dinner  at  Kennedy's  some  years  ago, 
and  when  he  heard  you  would  be  here  as  well,  his 
whole  face  lighted  up.  I  was  also  greatly  struck  with 
the  improvement  in  his  appearance,  he  seemed  more 
a  man  of  the  world  than  when  I  first  knew  him — car 
ried  himself  better  and  was  more  carefully  dressed. 

This  morning  when  I  went  in  he " 

217 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

The  door  opened  silently,  and  Todd,  trembling  all 
over,  laid  his  hand  on  his  master's  shoulder,  cutting 
short  his  dissertation. 

"Marse  George,  please  sah,  can  I  speak  to  you  a 
minute?"  The  boy  looked  as  if  he  had  just  seen 
a  ghost. 

"Speak  to  me!  Why  haven't  you  taken  my  mes 
sage,  Todd?" 

"Yes,  sah — dat  is — can't  ye  step  in  de  hall  a  min 
ute,  Marse  George — now — right  away?" 

"The  hall! — what  for? — is  there  anything  the  mat 
ter?" 

St.  George  pushed  back  his  chair  and  followed 
Todd  from  the  room:  something  had  gone  wrong — 
something  demanding  instant  attention  or  Todd 
wouldn't  be  scared  out  of  his  wits.  Those  nearest 
him,  who  had  overheard  Todd's  whispered  words, 
halted  in  their  talk  in  the  hope  of  getting  some  clew 
to  the  situation;  others,  further  away,  kept  on,  uncon 
scious  that  anything  unusual  had  taken  place. 

Several  minutes  passed. 

Again  the  door  swung  wide,  and  a  man  deathly 
pale,  erect,  faultlessly  dressed  in  a  full  suit  of  black, 
the  coat  buttoned  close  to  his  chin,  his  cavernous  eyes 
burning  like  coals  of  fire,  entered  on  St.  George's  arm 
and  advanced  toward  the  group. 

Every  guest  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant. 

"We  have  him  at  last!"  cried  St.  George  in  his 
cheeriest  voice.  "A  little  late,  but  doubly  welcome. 
Mr.  Poe,  gentlemen." 

218 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Kennedy  was  the  first  to  extend  his  hand,  Horn 
crowding  close,  the  others  waiting  their  turn. 

Poe  straightened  his  body,  focussed  his  eyes  on  Ken 
nedy,  shook  his  extended  hand  gravely,  but  without 
the  slightest  sign  of  recognition,  and  repeated  the 
same  cold  greeting  to  each  guest  in  the  room.  He 
spoke  no  word — did  not  open  his  lips — only  the 
mechanical  movement  of  his  outstretched  hand — a 
movement  so  formal  that  it  stifled  all  exclamations  of 
praise  on  the  part  of  the  guests,  or  even  of  welcome. 
It  was  as  if  he  had  grasped  the  hands  of  strangers  be 
side  an  open  grave. 

Then  the  cold,  horrible  truth  flashed  upon  them: 

Edgar  Allan  Poe  was  dead  drunk! 

The  silence  that  followed  was  appalling — an  expect 
ant  silence  like  that  which  precedes  the  explosion  of 
a  bomb.  Kennedy,  who  had  known  him  the  longest 
and  best,  and  who  knew  that  if  his  mind  could  once  be 
set  working  he  would  recover  his  tongue  and  wits,  hav 
ing  seen  him  before  in  a  similar  crisis,  stepped  nearer 
and  laid  both  hands  on  Poe's  shoulders.  Get  Poe  to 
talking  and  he  would  be  himself  again;  let  him  once 
be  seated,  and  ten  chances  to  one  he  would  fall  asleep 
at  the  table. 

"No,  don't  sit  down,  Mr.  Poe — not  yet.  Give  us 
that  great  story  of  yours — the  one  you  told  at  my  house 
that  night — we  have  never  forgotten  it.  Gentlemen, 
all  take  your  seats — I  promise  you  one  of  the  great 
treats  of  your  lives." 

219 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Poe  stood  for  an  instant  undecided,  the  light  of 
the  candles  illumining  his  black  hair,  pallid  face,  and 
haggard  features;  fixed  his  eyes  on  Todd  and  Mal- 
achi,  as  if  trying  to  account  for  their  presence,  and 
stood  wavering,  his  deep,  restless  eyes  gleaming  like 
slumbering  coals  flashing  points  of  hot  light. 

Again  Mr.  Kennedy's  voice  rang  out: 

"Any  one  of  your  stories,  Mr.  Poe — we  leave  it  to 
you." 

Everybody  was  seated  now,  with  eyes  fixed  on  the 
poet.  Harry,  overcome  and  still  dazed,  pressed  close 
to  Richard,  who,  bending  forward,  had  put  his  elbow 
on  the  table,  his  'chin  in  his  hand.  Clayton  wheeled 
up  a  big  chair  and  placed  it  back  some  little  distance 
so  that  he  could  get  a  better  view  of  the  man.  Sey 
mour,  Latrobe,  and  the  others  canted  their  seats  to 
face  the  speaker  squarely.  All  felt  that  Kennedy's 
tact  had  saved  the  situation  and  restored  the  equilib 
rium.  It  was  the  poet  now  who  stood  before  them 
— the  man  of  genius — the  man  whose  name  was  known 
the  country  through.  That  he  was  drunk  was  only 
part  of  the  performance.  Booth  had  been  drunk 
when  he  chased  a  super  from  the  stage;  Webster  made 
his  best  speeches  when  he  was  half-seas-over — was 
making  them  at  that  very  moment.  It  was  so  with 
many  other  men  of  genius  the  world  over.  If  they 
could  hear  one  of  Poe's  poems — or,  better  still,  one 
of  his  short  stories,  like  "  The  Black  Cat"  or  the  "  Mur 
ders  in  the  Rue  Morgue" — it  would  be  like  hearing 
Emerson  read  one  of  his  Essays  or  Longfellow  recite 

220 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

his  "  Hyperion."  This  in  itself  would  atone  for  every 
thing.  Kennedy  was  right — it  would  be  one  of  the 
rare  treats  of  their  lives. 

Poe  grasped  the  back  of  the  chair  reserved  for  him, 
stood  swaying  for  an  instant,  passed  one  hand  nerv 
ously  across  his  forehead,  brushed  back  a  stray  lock 
that  had  fallen  over  his  eyebrow,  loosened  the  top  but 
ton  of  his  frock  coat,  revealing  a  fresh  white  scarf  tied 
about  his  neck,  closed  his  eyes,  and  in  a  voice  deep, 
sonorous,  choked  with  tears  one  moment,  ringing  clear 
the  next — word  by  word — slowly — with  infinite  tender 
ness  and  infinite  dignity  and  with  the  solemnity  of  a 
condemned  man  awaiting  death — repeated  the  Lord's 
Prayer  to  the  end. 

Kennedy  sat  as  if  paralyzed.  Richard  Horn,  who 
had  lifted  up  his  hands  in  horror  as  the  opening  sen 
tence  reached  his  ears,  lowered  his  head  upon  his  chest 
as  he  would  in  church.  There  was  no  blasphemy  in 
this !  It  was  the  wail  of  a  lost  soul  pleading  for  mercy ! 

Harry,  cowering  in  his  chair,  gazed  at  Poe  in  amaze 
ment.  Then  a  throb  of  such  sympathy  as  he  had 
never  felt  before  shook  him  to  his  depths.  Could  that 
transfigured  man  praying  there,  the  undried  tears 
still  on  his  lids,  be  the  same  who  had  entered  on  his 
uncle's  arm  but  a  few  moments  before? 

Poe  lifted  his  head,  opened  his  eyes,  walked  in  a 
tired,  hopeless  way  toward  the  mantel  and  sank  into 
an  easy-chair.  There  he  sat  with  bowed  head,  his 
face  in  his  hands. 

221 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

One  by  one  the  men  rose  to  their  feet  and,  with  a 
nod  or  silent  pressure  of  St.  George's  palm,  moved 
toward  the  door.  When  they  spoke  to  each  other  it 
was  in  whispers:  to  Todd,  who  brought  their  hats  and 
canes;  to  Harry,  whom,  unconsciously,  they  substi 
tuted  for  host;  shaking  his  hand,  muttering  some 
word  of  sympathy  for  St.  George.  No — they  would 
find  their  way,  better  not  disturb  his  uncle,  etc.  They 
would  see  him  in  the  morning,  etc.,  and  thus  the 
group  passed  out  in  a  body  and  left  the  house. 

Temple  himself  was  profoundly  moved.  The  utter 
helplessness  of  the  man;  his  abject  and  complete  sur 
render  to  the  demon  which  possessed  him — all  this 
appalled  him.  He  had  seen  many  drunken  men  in 
his  time — roysterers  and  brawlers,  most  of  them — but 
never  one  like  Poe.  The  poet  seemed  to  have  lost 
his  identity — nothing  of  the  man  of  the  world  was  left 
— in  speech,  thought,  or  movement. 

When  Harry  re-entered,  his  uncle  was  sitting  beside 
the  poet,  who  had  not  yet  addressed  him  a  word;  nor 
had  he  again  raised  his  head.  Every  now  and  then 
the  sound  of  an  indrawn  breath  would  escape  Poe,  as 
if  hot  tears  were  choking  him. 

St.  George  waved  his  hand  meaningly. 

"Tell  Todd  I'll  ring  for  him  when  I  want  him, 
Harry,"  he  whispered,  "  and  now  do  you  go  to  sleep." 
Then,  pointing  to  the  crouching  man,  "  He  must  stay 
in  my  bed  here  to-night;  I  won't  leave  him.  What  a 
pity!  O  God!  what  a  pity!  Poor  fellow — how  sorry 
I  am  for  him!" 

222 


Grasped  the  back  of  the  chair  reserved  for  him 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Harry  was  even  more  affected.  Terrified  and  awe 
struck,  he  mounted  the  stairs  to  his  room,  locked  his 
chamber  door,  and  threw  himself  on  his  bed,  his 
mother's  and  Kate's  pleadings  sounding  in  his  ears, 
his  mind  filled  with  the  picture  of  the  poet  stand 
ing  erect  with  closed  eyes,  the  prayer  his  mother  had 
taught  him  falling  from  his  lips.  This,  then,  was  what 
his  mother  and  Kate  meant — this — the  greatest  of  all 
calamities — the  overthrow  of  a  man. 

For  the  hundredth  time  he  turned  his  wandering 
search-light  into  his  own  heart.  The  salient  features 
of  his  own  short  career  passed  in  review:  the  flutter 
ing  of  the  torn  card  as  it  fell  to  the  floor;  the  sharp 
crack  of  Willits's  pistol;  the  cold,  harsh  tones  of  his 
father's  voice  when  he  ordered  him  from  the  house; 
Kate's  dear  eyes  streaming  with  tears  and  her  uplifted 
hands — their  repellent  palms  turned  toward  him  as 
she  sobbed — "  Go  away — my  heart  is  broken ! "  And 
then  the  refrain  of  the  poem  which  of  late  had  haunted 
him  night  and  day: 

"Disaster  following  fast  and  following  faster, 
Till  his  song  one  burden  bore," 

and  then  the  full,  rich  tones  of  Poe's  voice  pleading 
with  his  Maker: 

"Forgive  us  our  trespasses  as  we  forgive  those  who 
trespass  against  us." 

"Yes: — Disaster  had  followed  fast  and  faster.  But 
why  had  it  followed  him  ?  What  had  he  done  to  bring 
all  this  misery  upon  himself?  How  could  he  have 

223 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

acted  differently?  Wherein  had  he  broken  any  law 
he  had  been  taught  to  uphold,  and  if  he  had  broken  it 
why  should  he  not  be  forgiven  ?  Why,  too,  had  Kate 
turned  away  from  him?  He  had  promised  her  never 
to  drink  again;  he  had  kept  that  promise,  and,  God 
helping  him,  he  would  always  keep  it,  as  would  any 
other  man  who  had  seen  what  he  had  just  seen  to-night. 
Perhaps  he  had  trespassed  in  the  duel,  and  yet  he 
would  fight  Willits  again  were  the  circumstances  the 
same,  and  in  this  view  Uncle  George  upheld  him.  But 
suppose  he  had  trespassed — suppose  he  had  commit 
ted  a  fault — as  his  father  declared — why  should  not 
Kate  forgive  him  ?  She  had  forgiven  Willits,  who  was 
drunk,  and  yet  she  would  not  forgive  him,  who  had 
not  allowed  a  drop  to  pass  his  lips  since  he  had 
given  her  his  promise.  How  could  she,  who  could  do 
no  wrong,  expect  to  be  forgiven  herself  when  she  not 
only  shut  her  door  in  his  face,  but  left  him  without  a 
word  or  a  line  ?  How  could  his  father  ask  forgiveness 
of  his  God  when  he  would  not  forgive  his  son  ?  Why 
were  these  two  different  from  his  mother  and  his 
Uncle  George,  and  even  old  Alec — who  had  nothing 
but  sympathy  for  him?  Perhaps  his  education  and 
training  had  been  at  fault.  Perhaps,  as  Richard  Horn 
had  said,  his  standards  of  living  were  old-fashioned 
and  quixotic. 

Only  when  the  gray  dawn  stole  in  through  the  small 
window  of  his  room  did  the  boy  fall  asleep. 


224 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Not  only  Kennedy  Square,  but  Moorlands,  rang  with 
accounts  of  the  dinner  and  its  consequences.  Most 
of  those  who  were  present  and  who  witnessed  the  dis 
tressing  spectacle  had  only  words  of  sympathy  for  the 
unfortunate  man — his  reverent  manner,  his  contrite 
tones,  and  abject  humiliation  disarming  their  criticism. 
They  felt  that  some  sudden  breaking  down  of  the  bar 
riers  of  his  will,  either  physical  or  mental,  had  led  to 
the  catastrophe.  Richard  Horn  voiced  the  sentiments 
of  Poe's  sympathizers  when,  in  rehearsing  the  episode 
the  next  afternoon  at  the  club,  he  had  said: 

"His  pitiable  condition,  gentlemen,  was  not  the  re 
sult  of  debauchery.  Poe  neither  spoke  nor  acted  like 
a  drunken  man;  he  spoke  and  acted  like  a  man  whom 
a  devil  had  overcome.  It  was  pathetic,  gentlemen, 
and  it  was  heart-rending — really  the  most  pitiful  sight 
I  ever  remember  witnessing.  His  anguish,  his  strug 
gle,  and  his  surrender  I  shall  never  forget;  nor  will  his 
God — for  the  prayer  came  straight  from  his  heart." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,  Horn,"  interrupted  Clay 
ton.  "Poe  was  plumb  drunk!  It  is  the  infernal  corn 
whiskey  he  drinks  that  puts  the  devil  in  him.  It  may 
be  he  can't  get  anything  else,  but  it's  a  damnable 
concoction  all  the  same.  Kennedy  has  about  given 

225 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

him  up — told  me  so  yesterday,  and  when  Kennedy 
gives  a  fellow  up  that's  the  last  of  him." 

"Then  I'm  ashamed  of  Kennedy,"  retorted  Horn. 
"  Any  man  who  can  write  as  Poe  does  should  be  for 
given,  no  matter  what  he  does — if  he  be  honest. 
There's  nothing  so  rare  as  genius  in  this  world,  and 
even  if  his  flame  does  burn  from  a  vile-smelling  wick 
it's  a  flame,  remember! — and  one  that  will  yet  light  the 
ages.  If  I  know  anything  of  the  literature  of  our  time 
Poe  will  live  when  these  rhymers  like  Mr.  Martin 
Farquhar  Tupper,  whom  everybody  is  talking  about, 
will  be  forgotten.  Poe's  possessed  of  a  devil,  I  tell  you, 
who  gets  the  better  of  him  once  in  a  while — it  did  the 
night  of  St.  George's  dinner." 

"Very  charitable  in  you,  Richard,"  exclaimed  Pan- 
coast,  another  dissenter — "and  perhaps  it  will  be  just 
as  well  for  his  family,  if  he  has  any,  to  accept  your 
view — but,  devil  or  no  devil,  you  must  confess,  Horn, 
that  it  was  pretty  hard  on  St.  George.  If  the  man 
has  any  sense  of  refinement — and  he  must  have  from 
the  way  he  writes — the  best  way  out  of  it  is  for  him 
to  own  up  like  a  man  and  say  that  Guy's  barkeeper 
filled  him  too  full  of  raw  whiskey,  and  that  he  didn't 
come  to  until  it  was  too  late — that  he  was  very  sorry, 
and  wouldn't  do  it  again.  That's  what  I  would  have 
done,  and  that's  what  you,  Richard,  or  any  other  gen 
tleman,  would  have  done." 

Others,  who  got  their  information  second  hand,  fol 
lowed  the  example  of  St.  George's  guests  censuring 
or  excusing  the  poet  in  accordance  with  their  previous 

226 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

likes  or  dislikes.  The  "  what-did-I-tell-yous  "— Bow- 
doin  among  them — and  there  were  several — broke  into 
roars  of  laughter  when  they  learned  what  had  happened 
in  the  Temple  mansion.  So  did  those  who  had  not 
been  invited,  and  who  still  felt  some  resentment  at 
St.  George's  oversight. 

Another  group;  and  these  were  also  to  be  found 
at  the  club — thought  only  of  St.  George — old  Murdock, 
voicing  their  opinions  when  he  said:  "Temple  laid 
himself  out,  so  I  hear,  on  that  dinner,  and  some  of 
us  know  what  that  means.  And  a  dinner  like  that, 
remember,  counts  with  St.  George.  In  the  future  it 
will  be  just  as  well  to  draw  the  line  at  poets  as  well 
as  actors." 

The  Lord  of  Moorlands  had  no  patience  with  any 
of  their  views.  Whether  Poe  was  a  drunkard  or  not 
did  not  concern  him  in  the  least.  What  did  trouble 
him  was  the  fact  that  St.  George's  cursed  independence 
had  made  him  so  far  forget  himself  and  his  own  birth 
and  breeding  as  to  place  a  chair  at  his  table  for  a  man 
in  every  way  beneath  him.  Hospitality  of  that  kind 
was  understandable  in  men  like  Kennedy  and  Latrobe 
— one  the  leading  literary  light  of  his  State,  whose 
civic  duties  brought  him  in  contact  with  all  classes— 
the  other  a  distinguished  man  of  letters  as  well  as 
being  a  poet,  artist,  and  engineer,  who  naturally 
touched  the  sides  of  many  personalities.  So,  too, 
might  Richard  Horn  be  excused  for  stretching  the 
point — he  being  a  scientist  whose  duty  it  was  to  wel 
come  to  his  home  many  kinds  of  people — this  man 

227 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Morse  among  them,  with  his  farcical  telegraph;  a 
man  in  the  public  eye  who  seemed  to  be  more  or  less 
talked  about  in  the  press,  but  of  whom  he  himself 
knew  nothing,  but  why  St.  George  Temple,  who  in 
all  probability  had  never  read  a  line  of  Poe's  or  any 
body  else's  poetry  in  his  life,  should  give  this  sot  a 
dinner,  and  why  such  sane  gentlemen  as  Seymour, 
Clayton,  and  Pancoast  should  consider  it  an  honor  to 
touch  elbows  with  him,  was  as  unaccountable  as  it  was 
incredible. 

Furthermore — and  this  is  what  rankled  deepest  in 
his  heart — St.  George  \/as  subjecting  his  only  son, 
Harry,  to  corrupting  influences,  and  at  a  time,  too, 
when  the  boy  needed  the  uplifting  examples  of  all 
that  was  highest  in  men  and  manners. 

"And  you  tell  me,  Alec,"  he  blazed  out  on  hearing 
the  details,  "  that  the  fellow  never  appeared  until  the 
dinner  was  all  over  and  then  came  in  roaring  drunk  ?  " 

"Well,  sah,  I  ain't  yered  nothin'  'bout  de  roarin', 
but  he  suttinly  was  '  how-come-ye-so ' — fer  dey  couldn't 
git  'im  upstairs  'less  dey  toted  him  on  dere  backs. 
Marse  George  Temple  gin  him  his  own  baid  an'  sot 
up  mos'  ob  de  night,  an'  dar  he  stayed  fur  fo'  days  till 
he  come  to.  Dat's  what  Todd  done  tol'  me,  an'  I 
reckon  Todd  knows." 

The  colonel  was  in  his  den  when  this  conversation 
took  place.  He  was  generally  to  be  found  there  since 
the  duel.  Often  his  wife,  or  Alec,  or  some  of  his 
neighbors  would  surprise  him  buried  in  his  easy-chair, 
an  unopened  book  in  his  hand,  his  eyes  staring  straight 

228 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

ahead  as  if  trying  to  grasp  some  problem  which  re 
peatedly  eluded  him.  After  the  episode  at  the  club 
he  became  more  absorbed  than  ever.  It  was  that 
episode,  indeed,  which  had  vexed  him  most.  Not  that 
St.  George's  tongue-lashing  worried  him — nor  did 
Harry's  blank  look  of  amazement  linger  in  his  thoughts. 
St.  George,  he  had  to  confess  to  himself  as  he  battled 
with  the  questions,  was  the  soul  of  honor  and  had  not 
meant  to  insult  him.  It  was  Temple's  love  for  Harry 
which  had  incited  the  quixotic  onslaught,  for,  as  he 
knew,  St.  George  dearly  loved  the  boy,  and  this  in  itself 
wiped  all  resentment  from  the  autocrat's  heart.  As 
to  Harry's  attitude  toward  himself,  this  he  continued 
to  reason  was  only  a  question  of  time.  That  young 
upstart  had  not  learned  his  lesson  yet — a  harsh  lesson, 
it  was  true,  and  one  not  understood  by  the  world  at 
large — but  then  the  world  was  not  responsible  for  his 
son's  bringing  up.  When  the  boy  had  learned  it,  and 
was  willing  to  acknowledge  the  error  of  his  ways,  then, 
perhaps,  he  might  kill  the  fatted  calf — that  is,  of  course, 
if  the  prodigal  should  return  on  all  fours  and  with  no 
stilted  and  untenable  ideas  about  his  rights — ideas 
that  St.  George,  of  course,  was  instilling  into  him  every 
chance  he  got. 

So  far,  however,  he  had  had  to  admit  to  himself  that 
while  he  had  kept  steady  watch  of  the  line  of  hills 
skirting  his  mental  horizon,  up  to  the  present  moment 
no  young  gentleman  in  a  dilapidated  suit  of  clothes,  in 
verted  waist  measure,  and  lean  legs  had  shown  himself 
above  the  sky  line.  On  the  contrary,  if  all  reports  were 

229 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

true — and  Alec  omitted  no  opportunity  to  keep  him 
advised  of  Marse  Harry's  every  movement — the  young 
Lord  of  Moorlands  was  having  the  time  of  his  life, 
even  if  his  sweetheart  had  renounced  him  and  his 
father  forced  him  into  exile.  Not  only  had  he  found 
a  home  and  many  comforts  at  Temple's — being  treated 
as  an  honored  guest  alongside  of  such  men  as  Kennedy 
and  Latrobe,  Pancoast,  and  the  others,  but  now  that 
St.  George  had  publicly  declared  him  to  be  his  heir, 
these  distinctive  marks  of  his  approbation  were  likely 
to  continue.  Nor  could  he  interfere,  even  if  he  wished 
to — which,  of  course,  he  did  not,  and  never  could  so 
long  as  he  lived.  .  .  ."Damn  him!"  etc.,  etc.  And  with 
this  the  book  would  drop  from  his  lap  and  he  begin 
pacing  the  floor,  his  eyes  on  the  carpet,  his  broad 
shoulders  bent  in  his  anxiety  to  solve  the  problem 
which  haunted  him  night  and  day: — how  to  get  Harry 
back  under  his  roof  and  not  yield  a  jot  or  tittle  of  his 
pride  or  will — or,  to  be  more  explicit,  now  that  the 
mountain  would  not  come  to  Mahomet,  how  could 
Mahomet  get  over  to  the  mountain  ? 

His  friend  and  nearest  neighbor,  John  Gorsuch,  who 
was  also  his  man  of  business,  opened  the  way.  The 
financier's  clerk  had  brought  him  a  letter,  just  in  by 
the  afternoon  coach,  and  with  a  glance  at  its  con 
tents  the  shrewd  old  fellow  had  at  once  ordered  his 
horse  and  set  out  for  Moorlands,  some  two  miles  dis 
tant.  Nor  did  he  draw  rein  or  break  gallop  until  he 
threw  the  lines  to  a  servant  beside  the  lower  step  of  the 
colonel's  porch. 

230 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"It's  the  Patapsco  again!  It  will  close  its  doors 
before  the  week  is  out!"  he  cried,  striding  into  the 
library,  where  the  colonel,  who  had  just  come  in  from 
inspecting  a  distant  field  on  his  estate,  sat  dusting  his 
riding-boots  with  his  handkerchief. 

"Going  to  stop  payment!  Failed!  What  the  devil 
do  you  mean,  John  ?  " 

"I  mean  just  what  I  say!  Everything  has  gone  to 
bally-hack  in  the  city.  Here's  a  letter  I  have  just  re 
ceived  from  Harding — he's  on  the  inside,  and  knows. 
He  thinks  there's  some  crooked  business  about  it; 
they  have  been  loaning  money  on  all  sorts  of  brick 
bats,  he  says,  and  the  end  has  come,  or  will  to-morrow. 
He  wanted  to  post  me  in  time." 

The  colonel  tossed  his  handkerchief  on  his  writing- 
table:  "Who  will  be  hurt?"  he  asked  hurriedly,  ig 
noring  the  reference  to  the  dishonesty  of  the  directors. 

"  Oh ! — a  lot  of  people.  Temple,  I  know,  keeps  his 
account  there.  He  was  short  of  cash  a  little  while  ago, 
for  young  Pawson,  who  has  his  law  office  in  the  base 
ment  of  his  house,  offered  me  a  mortgage  on  his  Ken 
nedy  Square  property,  but  I  hadn't  the  money  at  the 
time  and  didn't  take  it.  If  he  got  it  at  last — and  he 
paid  heavily  for  it  if  he  did — the  way  things  have  been 
going — and  if  he  put  that  money  in  the  Patapsco,  it 
will  be  a  bad  blow  to  him.  Harry,  I  hear,  is  with  him 
— so  I  thought  you  ought  to  know." 

Rutter  had  given  a  slight  start  at  the  mention  of 
Temple's  name  among  the  crippled,  and  a  strange 
glitter  still  lingered  in  his  eyes. 

231 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Then  I  presume  my  son  is  dependent  on  a  beggar/' 
he  exclaimed,  rising  from  his  seat,  stripping  off  his 
brown  velveteen  riding-jacket  and  hanging  it  in  a  closet 
behind  his  chair. 

"Yes,  it  looks  that  way." 

Gorsuch  was  watching  the  colonel  closely.  He  had 
another  purpose  in  making  his  breakneck  ride.  He 
didn't  have  a  dollar  in  the  Patapsco,  and  he  knew 
the  colonel  had  not;  he,  like  himself,  was  too  shrewd 
a  man  to  be  bitten  twice  by  the  same  dog;  but  he  had 
a  large  interest  in  Harry  and  would  leave  no  stone 
unturned  to  bring  father  and  son  together. 

The  colonel  again  threw  himself  into  his  chair, 
stretched  out  his  slender,  well-turned  legs,  crooked 
one  of  his  russet-leather  riding-boots  to  be  sure  the 
spurs  were  still  in  place,  and  said  slowly — rather 
absently,  as  if  the  subject  did  not  greatly  interest 
him: 

"Patapsco  failed  and  St.  George  a  beggar,  eh? — 
Too  bad! — too  bad!"  Then  some  disturbing  sus 
picions  must  have  entered  his  head,  for  he  roused 
himself,  looked  at  Gorsuch  keenly,  and  asked  in  a 
searching  tone:  "And  you  came  over  full  tilt,  John, 
to  tell  me  this?" 

"I  thought  you  might  help.  St.  George  needs  all 
the  friends  he's  got  if  this  is  true — and  it  looks  to  me  as 
if  it  was,"  answered  Gorsuch  in  a  casual  way. 

Rutter  relaxed  his  gaze  and  resumed  his  position. 
Had  his  suspicions  been  correct  that  Gorsuch's  in 
terest  in  Harry  was  greater  than  his  interest  in  the 

232 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

bank's  failure,  he  would  have  resented  it  even  from 
John  Gorsuch. 

Disarmed  by  the  cool,  unflinching  gaze  of  his  man 
of  business,  his  mind  again  took  up  in  review  all  the 
incidents  connected  with  St.  George  and  his  son, 
and  what  part  each  had  played  in  them. 

That  Temple — good  friend  as  he  had  always  been 
— had  thwarted  him  in  every  attempt  to  bring  about  a 
reconciliation  between  himself  and  Harry,  had  been 
apparent  from  the  very  beginning  of  the  difficulty. 
Even  the  affair  at  the  club  showed  it.  This  would 
have  ended  quite  differently — and  he  had  fully  in 
tended  it  should — had  not  St.  George,  with  his  cursed 
officiousness,  interfered  with  his  plans.  For  what  he 
had  really  proposed  to  himself  to  do,  on  that  spring 
morning  when  he  had  rolled  up  to  the  club  in  his 
coach,  was  to  mount  the  steps,  ignore  his  son  at  first, 
if  he  should  run  up  against  him — (and  he  had  selected 
the  very  hour  when  he  hoped  he  would  run  up  against 
him) — and  then,  when  the  boy  broke  down,  as  he 
surely  must,  to  forgive  him  like  a  gentleman  and  a 
Rutter,  and  this,  too,  before  everybody.  Seymour 
would  see  it — Kate  would  hear  of  it,  and  the  honor 
of  the  Rutters  remain  unblemished.  Moreover,  this 
would  silence  once  and  for  all  those  gabblers  who  had 
undertaken  to  criticise  him  for  what  they  called  his 
inhumanity  in  banishing  this  only  son  when  he  was 
only  trying  to  bring  up  that  child  in  the  way  he  should 
go.  Matters  seemed  to  be  coming  his  way.  The  fail 
ure  of  the  Patapsco  might  be  his  opportunity.  St. 

233 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

George  would  be  at  his  wits'  end;  Harry  would  be 
forced  to  choose  between  the  sidewalk  and  Moorlands, 
and  the  old  life  would  go  on  as  before. 

All  these  thoughts  coursed  through  his  mind  as  he 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  his  lips  tight  set,  the  jaw  firm 
,and  determined — only  the  lids  quivering  as  he  mastered 
the  tears  that  crept  to  their  edges.  Now  and  then, 
in  his  mental  absorption,  he  would  absently  cross  his 
legs  only  to  straighten  them  out  again,  his  state  of 
mind  an  open  book  to  Gorsuch,  who  had  followed  the 
same  line  of  reasoning  and  who  had  brought  the  news 
himself  that  he  might  the  better  watch  its  effect. 

"I'm  surprised  that  Temple  should  select  the  Pa- 
tapsco.  It  has  nerer  got  over  its  last  smash  of  four 
years  ago,"  Gorsuch  at  last  remarked.  He  did  not 
intend  to  let  the  topic  drift  away  from  Harry  if  he 
could  help  it. 

"I  am  not  surprised,  John.  St.  George  is  the  best 
fellow  in  the  world,  but  he  never  lets  anything  work 
but  his  heart.  When  you  get  at  the  bottom  of  it  you 
will  find  that  he's  backed  up  the  bank  because  some 
poor  devil  of  a  teller  or  clerk,  or  may  be  some  director, 
is  his  friend.  That's  enough  for  St.  George,  and  fur 
ther  than  that  he  never  goes.  He's  thrown  away  two 
fortunes  now — his  grandmother's,  which  was  small 
but  sound — and  his  father's,  which  if  he  had  at 
tended  to  it  would  have  kept  him  comfortable  all 
his  life." 

"You  had  some  words  at  the  club,  I  heard/'  in 
terjected  Gorsuch. 

234 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"No,  he  had  some  words,  I  had  a  julep,"  and  the 
colonel  smiled  grimly. 

"But  you  are  still  on  good  terms,  are  you  not?" 

"  I  am,  but  he  isn't.  But  that  is  of  no  consequence. 
No  man  in  his  senses  would  ever  get  angry  with  St. 
George,  no  matter  what  he  might  say  or  do.  He  hasn't 
a  friend  in  the  world  who  could  be  so  ill  bred.  And 
as  to  calling  him  out — you  would  as  soon  think  of 
challenging  your  wife.  St.  George  talks  from  his  heart, 
never  his  head.  I  have  loved  him  for  thirty  years  and 
know  exactly  what  I  am  talking  about — and  yet  let  me 
tell  you,  Gorsuch,  that  with  all  his  qualities — and  he  is 
the  finest-bred  gentleman  I  know — he  can  come  closer 
to  being  a  natural  born  fool  than  any  man  of  his  years 
and  position  in  Kennedy  Square.  This  treatment  of 
my  son — whom  I  am  trying  to  bring  up  a  gentleman — 
is  one  proof  of  it,  and  this  putting  all  his  eggs  into  one 
basket — and  that  a  rotten  basket — is  another." 

"  Well,  then — if  that  is  your  feeling  about  it,  colonel, 
why  not  go  and  see  him  ?  As  I  have  said,  he  needs  all 
the  friends  he's  got  at  a  time  like  this."  If  he  could 
bring  the  two  men  together  the  boy  might  come  home. 
Not  to  be  able  to  wave  back  to  Harry  as  he  dashed  past 
on  Spitfire,  had  been  a  privation  which  the  whole  set 
tlement  had  felt.  "That  is,  of  course,"  lie  continued, 
"  if  St.  George  Temple  would  be  willing  to  receive  you. 
He  would  be— wouldn't  he?" 

"  I  don't  know,  John — and  I  don't  care.  If  I  should 
make  up  my  mind  to  go — remember,  I  said  '  IF ' — I'd 
go  whether  he  liked  it  or  not." 

235 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

He  had  made  up  his  mind — had  made  it  up  at  the 
precise  moment  the  announcement  of  the  bank's  fail 
ure  and  St.  George's  probable  ruin  had  dropped  from 
Gorsuch's  lips — but  none  of  this  must  Gorsuch  sus 
pect.  He  would  still  be  the  doge  and  Virginius;  he 
alone  must  be  the  judge  of  when  and  how  and  where 
he  would  show  leniency.  Generations  of  Rutters  were 
behind  him — this  boy  was  in  the  direct  line — connect 
ing  the  past  with  the  present — and  on  Colonel  Talbot 
Rutter  of  Moorlands,  and  on  no  other,  rested  the  re 
sponsibility  of  keeping  the  glorious  name  unsmirched. 

Todd,  with  one  of  the  dogs  at  his  heels,  opened  the 
door  for  him,  smothering  a  "  Gor-a-Mighty ! — sumpin's 
up  fo'  sho'!"  when  his  hand  turned  the  knob.  He 
had  heard  the  clatter  of  two  horses  and  their  sudden 
pull-up  outside,  and  looking  out,  had  read  the  situa 
tion  at  a  glance.  Old  Matthew  was  holding  the  reins 
of  both  mounts  at  the  moment,  for  the  colonel  always 
rode  in  state.  No  tying  to  hitching-posts  or  tree-boxes, 
or  picking  up  of  a  loose  negro  to  watch  his  restless 
steed  when  he  had  a  stable  full  of  thoroughbreds  and 
quarters  packed  with  grooms. 

"Yes,  Marse  Colonel — yes,  sah — Marse  George  is 
inside — yes,  sah — but  Marse  Harry's  out."  He  had 
not  asked  for  Harry,  but  Todd  wanted  him  to  get  all 
the  facts  in  case  there  was  to  be  another  such  scene  as 
black  John  described  had  taken  place  at  the  club  on 
the  occasion  of  the  colonel's  last  visit  to  the  Chesa 
peake. 

236 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Then  I'll  go  in  unannounced,  and  you  need  not 
wait,  Todd." 

St.  George  was  in  his  arm-chair  by  the  mantel  look 
ing  over  one  of  his  heavy  ducking-guns  when  the  Lord 
of  Moorlands  entered.  He  was  the  last  man  in  the 
world  he  expected  to  see,  but  he  did  not  lose  his  self- 
control  or  show  in  any  way  his  surprise.  He  was 
host,  and  Rutter  was  his  guest;  nothing  else  counted 
now. 

St.  George  rose  to  his  feet,  laid  the  gun  carefully  on 
the  table,  and  with  a  cold  smile  on  his  face — one  of 
extreme  courtesy — advanced  to  greet  him. 

"Ah,  Talbot — it  has  been  some  time  since  I  had 
this  pleasure.  Let  me  draw  up  a  chair  for  you — I'll 
ring  for  Todd  and " 

"  No,  St.  George.     I  prefer  to  talk  to  you  alone." 

"Todd  is  never  an  interruption." 

"He  may  be  to-day.  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you — and  I  don't  want  either  to  be  interrupted  or  mis 
understood.  You  and  I  have  known  each  other  too 
many  years  to  keep  up  this  quarrel ;  I  am  getting  rather 
sick  of  it  myself." 

St.  George  shrugged  his  shoulders,  placed  the  gun 
carefully  in  the  rack  by  the  door,  and  maintained 
an  attentive  attitude.  He  would  either  fight  or  make 
peace,  but  he  must  first  learn  the  conditions.  In  the 
meantime  he  would  hold  his  peace. 

Rutter  strode  past  him  to  the  fireplace,  opened  his 
riding-jacket,  laid  his  whip  on  the  mantel,  and  with 
his  hands  deep  in  his  breeches  pockets  faced  the  room 

237 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

and  his  host,  who  had  again  taken  his  place  by 
the  table. 

"The  fact  is,  St.  George,  I  have  been  greatly  dis 
turbed  of  late  by  reports  which  have  reached  me 
about  my  son.  He  is  with  you,  I  presume?" 

St.  George  nodded. 

Rutter  waited  for  a  verbal  reply,  and  receiving  none, 
forged  on:  "Very  greatly  disturbed;  so  much  so  that 
I  have  made  an  especial  trip  from  Moorlands  to  call 
upon  you  and  ascertain  their  truth." 

Again  St.  George  nodded,  the  smile — one  of  ex 
treme  civility  now — still  on  his  face.  Then  he  added, 
flicking  some  stray  grains  of  tobacco  from  his  sleeve 
with  his  fingers:  "That  was  very  good  of  you,  Talbot 
— but  go  on — I'm  listening." 

The  colonel's  eyes  kindled.  Temple's  perfect  repose 
— something  he  had  not  expected — was  beginning  to 
get  on  his  nerves.  He  cleared  his  throat  impressively 
and  continued,  his  voice  rising  in  intensity: 

**  Instead  of  leading  the  life  of  a  young  man  brought 
up  as  a  gentleman,  I  hear  he  is  consorting  with  the 
lowest  class  of  people  here  in  your  house — people 
who " 

" — Are  my  guests,"  interrupted  St.  George  calmly 
— loosening  the  buttons  of  his  coat  in  search  of  his 
handkerchief — there  being  more  tobacco  on  his  clothes 
than  he  had  supposed. 

"Yes,  you  have  hit  it  exactly — your  guests — and 
that  is  another  thing  I  have  come  to  tell  you,  for 
neither  I  nor  your  friends  can  understand  how  a 

238 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

man  of  your  breeding  should  want  to  surround  him 
self  with " 

— "  Is  it  necessary  that  you  should  understand,  Tal 
bot?" — same  low,  incisive  but  extremely  civil  voice, 
almost  monotonous  in  its  cadences.  The  cambric  was 
in  full  play  now. 

"  Of  course  it  is  necessary  when  it  affects  my  own 
flesh  and  blood.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  this 
sot,  Poe,  is  not  a  fit  companion  for  a  boy  raised  as  my 
Harry  has  been — a  man  picked  out  of  the  gutter — 
his  family  a  lot  of  play-actors — even  worse,  I  hear. 
A  fellow  who  staggers  into  your  house  dead  drunk  and 
doesn't  sober  up  for  a  week!  It's  scandalous!" 

Again  St.  George  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  one 
hand  was  tight  shut  this  time,  the  steel  claws  pro 
truding,  the  handkerchief  alone  saving  their  points 
from  pressing  into  the  palms. 

"And  is  that  what  you  came  from  Moorlands  to 
tell  me,  Talbot?"  remarked  St.  George  casually,  ad 
justing  the  lapels  of  his  coat. 

"Yes!"  retorted  Rutter — he  was  fast  losing  what 
was  left  of  his  self-control — "that  and  some  other 
things  1  But  we  will  attend  to  Harry  first.  You  gave 
that  boy  shelter  when ' 

"Please  state  it  correctly,  Talbot.  We  can  get  on 
better  if  you  stick  to  the  facts."  The  words  came 
slowly,  but  the  enunciation  was  as  perfect  as  if  each 
syllable  had  been  parted  with  a  knife.  "I  didn't 
give  him  shelter — I  gave  him  a  home — one  you  denied 
him.  But  go  on — I  prefer  to  hear  you  out." 

239 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

The  colonel's  eyes  blazed.  He  had  never  seen  St. 
George  like  this:  it  was  Temple's  hot  outbursts  that 
had  made  him  so  easy  an  adversary  in  their  recent 
disputes. 

"And  you  will  please  do  the  same,  St.  George," 
he  demanded  in  his  most  top-lofty  tone,  ignoring  his 
opponent's  denial.  "  You  know  perfectly  well  I  turned 
him  out  of  Moorlands  because  he  had  disgraced  his 
blood,  and  yet  you — my  life-long  friend — have  had 
the  bad  taste  to  interfere  and  drag  him  down  still 
lower,  so  that  now,  instead  of  coming  to  his  senses  and 
asking  my  pardon,  he  parades  himself  at  the  club  and 
at  your  dinners,  putting  on  the  airs  of  an  injured  man." 

St.  George  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height. 

"  Let  us  change  the  subject,  Talbot,  or  we  will  both 
forget  ourselves.  If  you  have  anything  to  say  to  me 
that  will  benefit  Harry  and  settle  the  difficulty  between 
him  and  you,  I  will  meet  you  more  than  half-way,  but 
I  give  you  fair  warning  that  the  apology  must  come 
from  you.  You  have — if  you  will  permit  me  to  say  it 
in  my  own  house — behaved  more  like  a  brute  than  a 
father.  I  told  you  so  the  night  you  turned  him  out 
in  the  rain  for  me  to  take  care  of,  and  I  told  you  so 
again  at  the  club  when  you  tried  to  make  a  laughing 
stock  of  him  before  your  friends — and  now  I  tell  you 
so  once  more!  Come! — let  us  drop  the  subject — what 
may  I  offer  you  to  drink  ? — you  must  be  rather  chilled 
with  your  ride  in." 

Rutter  was  about  to  flare  out  a  denial  when  his 
better  judgment  got  the  best  of  him;  some  other  tactics 

240 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

than  the  ones  he  had  used  must  be  brought  into  play. 
So  far  he  had  made  but  little  headway  against  Tem 
ple's  astounding  coolness. 

"  And  I  am  to  understand,  then,  that  you  are  going 
to  keep  him  here?"  he  demanded,  ignoring  both  his 
host's  criticisms  and  his  proffered  hospitality. 

"I  certainly  am" — he  was  abreast  of  him  now,  his 
eyes  boring  into  his — "just  as  long  as  he  wishes  to 
stay,  which  I  hope  will  be  all  his  life,  or  until  you 
have  learned  to  be  decent  to  him.  And  by  decency, 
I  mean  companionship,  and  love,  and  tenderness — 
three  things  which  your  damned,  high-toned  notions 
have  always  deprived  him  of!"  His  voice  was  still  un 
der  control,  although  the  emphasis  was  unmistakable. 

Rutter  made  a  step  forward,  his  eyes  flashing,  his 
teeth  set: 

"You  have  the  impertinence,  sir,  to  charge  me 
with " 

" — Yes! — and  it's  true  and  you  know  it's  true!" — 
the  glance,  steady  as  a  rifle,  had  not  wavered.  "No, 
you  needn't  work  yourself  up  into  a  passion — and  as 
for  your  lordly,  dictatorial  airs,  I  am  past  the  age 
when  they  affect  me — keep  them  for  your  servants. 
By  God! — what  a  farce  it  all  is!  Let  us  talk  of  some 
thing  else — I  am  tired  of  it!" 

The  words  cut  like  a  whip,  but  the  Lord  of  Moor 
lands  had  come  to  get  his  son,  not  to  fight  St.  George. 
Their  sting,  however,  had  completely  changed  his 
plans.  Only  the  club  which  Gorsuch  had  put  into 
his  hands  would  count  now. 

241 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Yes — a  damnable  farce!"  he  thundered,  "and  one 
played  by  a  man  with  beggary  staring  him  straight 
in  the  face,  and  yet  to  hear  you  talk  one  would  think 
you  were  a  Croesus!  You  mortgaged  this  house  to 
get  ready  money,  did  you  not?"  He  was  not  sure, 
but  this  was  no  time  in  which  to  split  words. 

St.  George  turned  quickly:    "Who  told  you  that?" 

"Is  it  true?" 

"Yes!  Do  you  suppose  I  would  let  Harry  sneak 
around  corners  to  avoid  his  creditors?" 

The  colonel  gave  an  involuntary  start,  the  blood 
mounting  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  and  as  suddenly 
paled: 

"You  tell  me  that — you  dared  to — pay  Harry's 
debts?"  he  stammered  in  amazement. 

"Dared!"  retorted  St.  George,  lifting  his  chin  con 
temptuously.  "  Really,  Talbot,  you  amuse  me.  When 
you  set  that  dirty  hound  Gadgem  on  his  trail,  what 
did  you  expect  me  to  do  ? — invite  the  dog  to  dinner  ?— 
or  have  him  sleep  in  the  house  until  I  sold  furniture 
enough  to  get  rid  of  him?" 

The  colonel  leaned  back  against  the  mantel's  edge 
as  if  for  support.  All  the  fight  was  out  of  him.  Not 
only  was  the  situation  greatly  complicated,  but  he 
himself  was  his  host's  debtor.  The  seriousness  of 
the  whole  affair  confronted  him.  For  a  brief  instant 
he  gazed  at  the  floor,  his  eyes  on  the  hearthrug,  "  Have 
you  any  money  left,  St.  George?"  he  asked.  His 
voice  was  subdued  enough  now.  Had  he  been  his 
solicitor  he  could  not  have  been  more  concerned. 

242 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Yes,  a  few  thousand,"  returned  St.  George.  He 
saw  that  some  unexpected  shot  had  hit  the  colonel, 
but  he  did  not  know  he  had  fired  it. 

"Left  over  from  the  mortgage,  I  suppose? — less 
what  you  paid  out  for  Harry  ? " 

"Yes,  left  over  from  the  mortgage,  less  what  I  paid 
Gadgem,"  he  bridled.  "If  you  have  brought  any 
more  of  Harry's  bills  hand  them  out.  Why  the  devil 
you  ask,  Talbot,  is  beyond  my  ken,  but  I  have  no 
objection  to  your  knowing." 

Rutter  waved  his  hand  impatiently,  with  a  depre 
cating  gesture;  such  trifles  were  no  longer  important. 

"You  bank  with  the  Patapsco,  do  you  not?"  he 
asked  calmly.  "Answer  me,  please,  and  don't  think 
I'm  trying  to  pry  into  your  affairs.  The  matter  is 
much  more  serious  than  you  seem  to  think."  The 
tone  was  so  sympathetic  that  St.  George  looked  closer 
into  his  antagonist's  face,  trying  to  read  the  cause. 

"Always  with  the  Patapsco.  I  have  kept  my  ac 
count  there  for  years,"  he  rejoined  simply.  "Why 
do  you  want  to  know?" 

"Because  it  has  closed  its  doors — or  will  in  a  few 
hours.  It  is  bankrupt!" 

There  was  no  malice  in  his  tone,  nor  any  note  of 
triumph.  That  St.  George  had  beggared  himself  to 
pay  his  son's  debts  had  wiped  that  clear.  He  was 
simply  announcing  a  fact  that  caused  him  the  deepest 
concern. 

St.  George's  face  paled,  and  for  a  moment  a  pecu 
liar  choking  movement  started  in  his  throat. 

243 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Bankrupt! — the  Patapsco!  How  do  you  know?" 
He  had  heard  some  ugly  rumors  at  the  club  a  few 
days  before,  but  had  dismissed  them  as  part  of  Hard- 
ing's  croakings. 

"John  Gorsuch  received  a  letter  last  night  from 
one  of  the  directors;  there  is  no  doubt  of  its  truth. 
I  have  suspected  its  condition  for  some  time,  so  has 
Gorsuch.  This  brought  me  here.  You  see  now  how 
impossible  it  is  for  my  son  to  be  any  longer  a  burden 
on  you." 

St.  George  walked  slowly  across  the  room  and 
drawing  out  a  chair  settled  himself  to  collect  his 
thoughts  the  better; — he  had  remained  standing  as  the 
better  way  to  terminate  the  interview  should  he  be 
compelled  to  exercise  that  right.  The  two  announce 
ments  had  come  like  successive  blows  in  the  face.  If 
the  news  of  the  bank's  failure  was  true  he  was  badly, 
if  not  hopelessly,  crippled — this,  however,  would  wait, 
as  nothing  he  might  do  could  prevent  the  catastro 
phe.  The  other — Harry's  being  a  burden  to  him — 
must  be  met  at  once. 

He  looked  up  and  caught  the  colonel's  eye  scrut 
inizing  his  face. 

"As  to  Harry's  being  a  burden,"  St.  George  said 
slowly,  his  lip  curling  slightly — "  that  is  my  affair. 
As  to  his  remaining  here,  all  I  have  to  say  is  that  if 
a  boy  is  old  enough  to  be  compelled  to  pay  his  debts 
he  is  old  enough  to  decide  where  he  will  live.  You 
have  yourself  established  that  rule  and  it  will  be 
carried  out  to  the  letter." 

244 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Rutter's  face  hardened:  "But  you  haven't  got  a 
dollar  in  the  world  to  spare!" 

"That  may  be,  but  it  doesn't  altar  the  situation; 
it  rather  strengthens  it."  He  rose  from  his  chair: 
"I  think  we  are  about  through  now,  Talbot,  and  if 
you  will  excuse  me  I'll  go  down  to  the  bank  and  see 
what  is  the  matter.  I  will  ring  for  Todd  to  bring 
your  hat  and  coat."  He  did  not  intend  to  continue 
the  talk.  There  had  just  been  uncovered  to  him  a 
side  of  Talbot  Rutter's  nature  which  had  shocked  him 
as  much  as  had  the  threatened  loss  of  his  money. 
To  use  his  poverty  as  a  club  to  force  him  into  a  posi 
tion  which  would  be  dishonorable  was  inconceivable 
in  a  man  as  well  born  as  his  antagonist,  but  it  was 
true:  he  could  hardly  refrain  from  telling  him  so. 
He  had  missed,  it  may  be  said,  seeing  another  side — 
his  visitor's  sympathy  for  him  in  his  misfortune. 
That,  unfortunately,  he  did  not  see:  fate  often  plays 
such  tricks  with  us  all. 

The  colonel  stepped  in  front  of  him:  his  eyes  had 
an  ugly  look  in  them — the  note  of  sympathy  was  gone. 

"One  moment,  St.  George!  How  long  you  are  go 
ing  to  keep  up  this  fool  game,  I  don't  know;  but  my 
son  stays  here  on  one  condition,  and  on  one  condition 
only,  and  you  might  as  well  understand  it  now.  From 
this  time  on  I  pay  his  board.  Do  you  for  one  instant 
suppose  I  am  going  to  let  you  support  him,  and  you  a 
beggar?" 

St.  George  made  a  lunge  toward  the  speaker  as  if 
to  strike  him.  Had  Rutter  fired  point-blank  at  him 

245 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

he  could  not  have  been  more  astounded.  For  an  in 
stant  he  stood  looking  into  his  face,  then  whirled  sud 
denly  and  swung  wide  the  door. 

"  May  I  ask  you,  Talbot,  to  leave  the  room,  or  shall 
I?  You  certainly  cannot  be  in  your  senses  to  make 
me  a  proposition  like  that.  This  thing  has  got  to 
come  to  an  end,  and  now!  I  wish  you  good-morning.*' 

The  colonel  lifted  his  hands  in  a  deprecatory  way. 

"As  you  will,  St.   George." 

And  without  another  word  the  baffled  autocra' 
strode  from  the  room. 


246 


CHAPTER  XVII 

There  was  no  one  at  home  when  Harry  returned 
except  Todd,  who,  having  kept  his  position  outside 
the  dining-room  door  during  the  heated  encoun 
ter,  had  missed  nothing  of  the  interview.  What  had 
puzzled  the  darky — astounded  him  really — was  that 
no  pistol-shot  had  followed  his  master's  denounce 
ment  and  defiance  of  the  Lord  of  Moorlands.  What 
had  puzzled  him  still  more  was  hearing  these  same 
antagonists  ten  minutes  later  passing  the  time  o'  day, 
St.  George  bowing  low  and  the  colonel  touching  his 
hat  as  he  passed  out  and  down  to  where  Matthew 
and  his  horses  were  waiting. 

It  was  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  Todd's  recital 
to  Harry  came  in  a  more  or  less  disjointed  and  dis 
connected  form. 

"You  say,  Todd,"  he  exclaimed  in  astonishment, 
"that  my  father  was  here!"  Our  young  hero  was 
convinced  that  the  visit  did  not  concern  himself,  as 
he  was  no  longer  an  object  of  interest  to  any  one  at 
home  except  his  mother  and  Alec. 

"  Dat  he  was,  sah,  an*  b'ilin'  mad.  Dey  bofe  was, 
on'y  Marse  George  lay  low  an*  de  colonel  purty  nigh 
rid  ober  de  top  ob  de  fence.  Fust  Marse  George  sass 
him  an'  den  de  colonel  sass  him  back.  Purty  soon 

247 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Marse  George  say  he  gwinter  speak  his  min* — and 
he  call  de  colonel  a  brute  an'  den  de  colonel  riz  up 
an*  say  Marse  George  was  a  beggar  and  a  puttin'  on 
airs  when  he  didn't  hab  'nough  money  to  buy  hisse'f 
a  'tater;  an'  den  Marse  George  r'ared  and  pitched — 
Oh!  I  tell  ye  he  ken  be  mighty  sof  and  persimmony 
when  he's  tame — and  he's  mos'  allers  dat  way — but 
when  his  dander's  up,  and  it  suttinly  riz  to-day,  he 
kin  make  de  fur  fly.  Dat's  de  time  you  wanter  git 
outer  de  way  or  you'll  git  hurted." 

"Who  did  you  say  was  the  beggar?"  It  was  all 
Greek  to  Harry. 

"  Why,  Marse  George  was — he  was  de  one  what  was 
gwine  hongry.  De  colonel  'lowed  dat  de  bank  was 
busted  an' " 

"What  bank?" 

"Why  de  'Tapsco — whar  Marse  George  keep  his 
money.  Ain't  you  see  me  comin'  from  dar  mos'  ebery 
day?" 

"  But  it  hasn't  failed,  has  it  ?  "  He  was  still  wonder 
ing  what  the  quarrel  was  about. 

"Wall,  I  dunno,  but  I  reckon  sumpin's  de  matter, 
for  no  sooner  did  de  colonel  git  on  his  horse  and  ride 
away  dan  Marse  George  go  git  his  hat  and  coat  hisse'f 
and  make  tracks  th'ou'  de  park  by  de  short  cut — and 
you  know  he  neber  do  dat  'cept  when  he's  in  a  hurry, 
and  den  in  'bout  a  ha'f  hour  he  come  back  ag'in  lookin' 
like  he'd  seed  de  yahoo,  only  he  was  mad  plump 
th'ou';  den  he  hollered  for  me  quick  like,  and  sont  me 
down  underneaf  yere  to  Mr.  Pawson  to  know  was  he 

248 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

in,  and  he  was,  and  I  done  tol'  him,  and  he's  dar  now. 
He  ain't  neber  done  sont  me  down  dar  'cept  once 
senee  I  been  yere,  and  dat  was  de  day  dat  Gadgem 
man  come  snuffin'  roun'.  Trouble  comin'." 

Harry  had  now  begun  to  take  in  the  situation.  It 
was  evidently  a  matter  of  some  moment  or  Pawson 
would  not  have  been  consulted. 

"I'll  go  down  myself,  Todd,"  he  said  with  sudden 
resolve. 

"  Better  lem'me  tell  him  you're  yere,  Marse  Harry." 

"No,  I'll  go  now,"  and  he  turned  on  his  heel  and 
descended  the  front  steps. 

On  the  street  side  of  the  house,  level  with  the  bricks, 
was  a  door  opening  into  a  low-ceiled,  shabbily  fur 
nished  room,  where  in  the  old  days  General  Dorsey 
Temple,  as  has  been  said,  shared  his  toddies  with  his 
cronies.  There  he  found  St.  George  seated  at  a  long 
table  piled  high  with  law  books  and  papers — the  top 
covered  with  a  green  baize  cloth  embroidered  with 
mice  holes  and  decorated  with  ink  stains.  Beside 
him  was  a  thin,  light-haired,  young  man,  with  a  long, 
flexible  neck  and  abnormally  high  forehead,  over- 
doming  a  shrewd  but  not  unkindly  face.  The  two 
were  poring  over  a  collection  of  papers. 

The  young  lawyer  rose  to  his  feet,  a  sickly,  defer 
ential  smile  playing  along  his  straight  lips.  Young 
aristocrats  of  Harry's  blood  and  breeding  did  not 
often  darken  Pawson's  door,  and  he  was  extremely 
anxious  that  his  guest  should  in  some  way  be  made 
aware  of  his  appreciation  of  that  fact.  St.  George 

249 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

did  not  move,  nor  did  he  take  any  other  notice  of 
the  boy's  appearance  than  to  fasten  his  eyes  upon 
him  for  a  moment  in  recognition  of  his  presence. 

But  Harry  could  not  wait. 

"Todd  has  just  told  me,  Uncle  George,  that" — 
he  caught  the  grave  expression  on  Temple's  face — 
"Why! — Uncle  George — there  isn't  anything  the  mat 
ter,  is  there?  It  isn't  true  that  the " 

St.  George  raised  his  head:  "What  isn't  true, 
Harry?" 

"That  the  Patapsco  Bank  is  in  trouble?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  so.  The  bank,  so  far  as  I 
know,  is  all  right;  it's  the  depositors  who  are  in 
trouble,"  and  one  of  his  quaint  smiles  lighted  up  his 
face. 

"Broken! — failed!"  cried  Harry,  still  in  doubt  as 
to  the  extent  of  the  catastrophe,  but  wishing  to  be 
sympathetic  and  proportionably  astounded  as  any 
well-bred  young  man  should  be  when  his  best  friend 
was  unhappy. 

"I'm  afraid  it  is,  Harry — in  fact  I  know  it  is — 
bankrupt  in  character  as  well  as  in  balances — a  bad- 
smelling,  nasty  mess,  to  tell  you  the  truth.  That's  not 
only  my  own  opinion,  but  the  opinion  of  every  man 
whom  I  have  seen,  and  there  was  quite  an  angry  mob 
when  I  reached  the  teller's  window  this  morning. 
That  is  your  own  opinion  also,  is  it  not,  Mr.  Paw- 
son? — your  legal  summing  up,  I  mean." 

The  young  attorney  stretched  out  his  spare  colorless 
hands;  opened  wide  his  long,  double-jointed  fingers; 

250 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

pressed  their  ten  little  cushions  together,  and  see 
sawing  the  bunch  in  front  of  his  concave  waistcoat, 
answered  in  his  best  professional  voice: 

"As  to  being  bankrupt  of  funds  I  should  say  there 
was  no  doubt  of  that  being  their  condition;  as  to  any 
criminal  intent  or  practices — that,  of  course,  gentle 
men  " — and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  a  non-com 
mittal,  non-actionable  way — "is  not  for  me  to  decide." 

"But  you  think  it  will  be  months,  and  perhaps 
years,  before  the  depositors  get  a  penny  of  their  money 
— do  you  not?"  persisted  St.  George. 

Again  Pawson  performed  the  sleight-of-hand  trick, 
and  again  he  was  non-committal — a  second  shrug 
alone  expressing  his  views,  the  performance  ending  by 
his  pushing  a  wooden  chair  in  the  direction  of  Harry, 
who  was  still  on  his  feet. 

Harry  settled  himself  on  its  edge  and  fixed  his  eyes 
on  his  uncle.  St.  George  again  became  absorbed  in 
the  several  papers,  Pawson  once  more  assisting  him, 
the  visitor  having  now  been  duly  provided  for. 

This  raking  of  ashes  in  the  hope  of  finding  some 
thing  of  value  unscorched  was  not  a  pleasant  task 
for  the  young  lawyer.  He  had,  years  before,  con 
ceived  the  greatest  admiration  for  his  landlord  and 
was  never  tired  of  telling  his  associates  of  how  kind 
and  considerate  St.  George  had  always  been,  and  of 
his  patience  in  the  earlier  days  of  his  lease,  Mr.  Tem 
ple  often  refusing  the  rent  until  he  was  quite  ready 
to  pay  it.  He  took  a  certain  pride,  too,  in  living  under 
the  same  roof,  so  to  speak,  with  one  universally  known 

251 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

as  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  whose  birth,  educa 
tion,  and  habits  made  him  the  standard  among  his 
fellows — a  man  without  pretence  or  sham,  living  a 
simple  and  wholesome  life;  with  dogs,  guns,  priceless 
Madeira  and  Port,  as  well  as  unlimited  clothes  of 
various  patterns  adapted  to  every  conceivable  service 
and  function — to  say  nothing  of  his  being  part  of  the 
best  society  that  Kennedy  Square  could  afford. 

Even  to  bow  to  his  distinguished  landlord  as  he  was 
•descending  his  front  steps  was  in  itself  one  of  his 
greatest  pleasures.  That  he  might  not  miss  it,  he 
would  peer  from  behind  his  office  shutters  until  the 
shapely  legs  of  his  patron  could  be  seen  between  the 
twisted  iron  railing.  Then  appearing  suddenly  and 
with  assumed  surprise,  he  would  lift  his  hat  with  so 
great  a  flourish  that  his  long,  thin  arms  and  body  were 
jerked  into  semaphore  angles,  his  face  meanwhile 
beaming  with  ill-concealed  delight. 

Should  any  one  of  St.  George's  personal  friends 
accompany  him — men  like  Kennedy,  or  General  Har- 
disty,  or  some  well-known  man  from  the  Eastern  Shore 
— one  of  the  Dennises,  or  Joyneses,  or  Irvings — the 
pleasure  was  intensified,  the  incident  being  of  great 
professional  advantage.  "I  have  just  met  old  Gen 
eral  Hardisty,"  he  would  say — "he  was  at  our  house," 
the  knowing  ones  passing  a  wink  around,  and  the 
uninitiated  having  all  the  greater  respect  and,  there 
fore,  all  the  greater  confidence  in  that  rising  young 
firm  of  "Pawson  &  Pawson,  Attorneys  and  Counsel 
lors  at  Law — Wills  drawn  and  Estates  looked  after." 

252 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

That  this  rarest  of  gentlemen,  of  all  men  in  the 
world,  should  be  made  the  victim  of  a  group  of 
schemers  who  had  really  tricked  him  of  almost  all 
that  was  left  of  his  patrimony,  and  he  a  member  of 
his  own  profession,  was  to  Pawson  one  of  the  great 
sorrows  of  his  life.  That  he  himself  had  unwittingly 
helped  in  its  culmination  made  it  all  the  keener.  Only 
a  few  weeks  had  passed  since  that  eventful  day  when 
St.  George  had  sent  Todd  down  to  arrange  for  an 
interview,  an  event  which  was  followed  almost  imme 
diately  by  that  gentleman  in  person.  He  remembered 
his  delight  at  the  honor  conferred  upon  him;  he  re 
called  how  he  had  spent  the  whole  of  that  and  the 
next  day  in  the  attempt  to  negotiate  the  mortgage  on 
the  old  home  at  a  reasonable  rate  of  interest;  he  re 
called,  too,  how  he  could  have  lowered  the  rate  had 
St.  George  allowed  him  more  time.  "No,  pay  it  and 
get  rid  of  them!"  St.  George  had  said,  the  "them" 
being  part  of  the  very  accounts  over  which  the  two 
were  poring.  And  his  patron  had  showed  the  same 
impatience  when  it  came  to  placing  the  money  in  the 
bank.  Although  his  own  lips  were  sealed  profession 
ally  by  reason  of  the  interests  of  another  client,  he 
had  begged  St.  George,  almost  to  the  verge  of  inter 
ference,  not  to  give  it  to  the  Patapsco,  until  he  had 
been  silenced  with:  "Have  them  put  it  to  my  credit, 
sir.  I  have  known  every  member  of  that  bank  for 
years." 

All  these  things  were,  of  course,  unknown  to  Harry, 
the  ultimate  beneficiary.  Who  had  filled  the  bucket, 

253 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

and  how  and  why,  were  unimportant  facts  to  him. 
That  it  was  full,  and  ready  for  his  use,  brought  with 
it  the  same  sense  of  pleasure  he  would  have  felt  on  a 
hot  day  at  Moorlands  when  he  had  gone  to  the  old  well, 
drawn  up  the  ice-cold  water,  and,  plunging  in  the 
sweet-smelling  gourd,  had  drank  to  his  heart's  con 
tent. 

This  was  what  wells  were  made  for;  and  so  were 
fathers,  and  big,  generous  men  like  his  Uncle  George, 
who  had  dozens  of  friends  ready  to  cram  money  into 
his  pocket  for  him  to  hand  over  to  whoever  wanted  it 
and  without  a  moment's  hesitation — just  as  Slater 
had  handed  him  the  money  he  needed  when  Gilbert 
wanted  it  in  a  hurry. 

Nor  could  it  be  expected  that  Harry,  even  with  the 
examination  of  St.  George's  accounts  with  the  Patapsco 
and  other  institutions  going  on  under  his  very  eyes, 
understood  fully  just  what  a  bank  failure  really  meant. 
Half  a  dozen  banks,  he  remembered,  had  gone  to 
smash  some  few  years  before,  sending  his  father  to 
town  one  morning  at  daylight,  where  he  stayed  for  a 
week,  but  no  change,  so  far  as  he  could  recall,  had 
happened  because  of  it  at  Moorlands.  Indeed,  his 
father  had  bought  a  new  coach  for  his  mother  the 
very  next  week,  out  of  what  he  had  "saved  from  the 
wreck,"  so  he  had  told  her. 

It  was  not  until  the  hurried  overhauling  of  a  mass 
of  papers  beneath  his  uncle's  hand,  and  the  subsequent 
finding  of  a  certain  stray  sheet  by  Pawson,  that  the 
boy  was  aroused  to  a  sense  of  the  gravity  of  the  situa- 

254 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

tion.  And  even  then  his  interest  did  not  become 
acute  until,  the  missing  document  identified,  St.  George 
had  turned  to  Pawson  and,  pointing  to  an  item  half 
way  down  the  column,  had  said  in  a  lowered  tone, 
as  if  fearing  to  be  overheard: 

"You  have  the  receipts,  have  you  not,  for  every 
thing  on  this  list? — Slater's  account  too,  and  Hamp- 
son's?" 

"They  are  in  the  file  beside  you,  sir." 

"Well,  that's  a  comfort,  anyhow." 

"And  the  balance" — here  he  examined  a  small 
book  which  lay  open  beside  him — "amounting  to" — 
he  paused — "  is  of  course  locked  up  in  their  vaults  ?  " 

Harry  had  craned  his  head  in  instant  attention. 
His  quickened  ears  had  caught  two  familiar  names. 
It  was  Slater  who  had  loaned  him  the  five  hundred 
dollars  which  he  gave  to  Gilbert,  which  his  father  had 
commended  him  for  borrowing;  and  it  was  Hamp- 
son  who  had  sold  him  the  wretched  horse  that  had 
stumbled  and  broken  his  leg  and  had  afterwards  to 
be  shot. 

"Slater,  did  you  say,  Uncle  George — and  Hamp- 
son?  Aren't  they  my  old  accounts?" 

"Quite  right,  Mr.  Rutter— quite  right,  sir."  St. 
George  tried  to  stop  him  with  a  frown,  but  Pawson's 
face  was  turned  towards  Harry  and  he  failed  to  get 
the  signal.  "Quite  right,  and  quite  lucky;  they  were 
both  important  items  in  Mr.  Gadgem's  list,  and  both 
checks  passed  through  the  bank  and  were  paid  before 
the  smash  came." 

255 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

The  tones  of  Pawson's  voice,  the  twisting  together 
of  his  bony  hands  in  a  sort  of  satisfied  contentment, 
and  the  weary  look  on  his  uncle's  face  were  the  open 
ing  of  so  many  windows  in  the  boy's  brain.  At  the 
same  instant  one  of  those  creepy  chills  common  to  a 
man  when  some  hitherto  undiscovered  vista  of  im 
pending  disaster  widens  out  before  him,  started  at 
the  base  of  Harry's  spine,  crept  up  his  shoulder-blades, 
shivered  along  his  arms,  and  lost  itself  in  his  benumbed 
fingers.  This  was  followed  by  a  lump  in  his  throat 
that  nearly  strangled  him.  He  left  his  chair  and 
touched  Pawson  on  the  shoulder. 

"Does  this  mean,  Mr.  Pawson — this  money  being 
locked  up  in  the  bank  vaults  and  not  coming  out  for 
months — and  may  be  never — does  it  mean  that  Mr. 
Temple — well,  that  Uncle  George — won't  have  enough 
money  to  live  on?"  There  was  an  anxious,  vibrant 
tone  in  Harry's  voice  that  aroused  St.  George  to  a 
sense  of  the  boy's  share  in  the  calamity  and  the  pri 
vations  he  must  suffer  because  of  it.  Pawson  hesitated 
and  was  about  to  belittle  the  gravity  of  the  situation 
when  St.  George  stopped  him. 

"Yes — tell  him — tell  him  everything,  I  have  no 
secrets  from  Mr.  Rutter.  Stop!— I'll  tell  him.  It 
means,  Harry" — and  a  brave  smile  played  about  his 
lips — "that  we  will  have  to  live  on  hog  and  hominy, 
may  be,  or  pretty  nigh  it — certainly  for  a  while — not 
bad,  old  fellow,  when  you  get  accustomed  to  it.  Aunt 
Jemima  makes  very  good  hominy  and " 

He  stopped;  the  brave  smile  had  faded  from  his  face 
256 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"By  Jove!— that's  something  I  didn't  think  of!— 
What  will  I  do  with  the  dear  old  woman —  It  would 
break  her  heart— and  Todd?" 

Here  was  indeed  something  on  which  he  had  not 
counted!  For  him  to  forego  the  luxuries  that  en 
riched  his  daily  life  was  easy — he  had  often  in  his 
hunting  trips  lived  for  weeks  on  sweet  potato  and  a 
handful  of  cornmeal,  and  slept  on  the  bare  ground 
with  only  a  blanket  over  him,  but  that  his  servants 
should  be  reduced  to  similar  privations  suggested 
possibilities  which  appalled  him.  For  the  first  time 
since  the  cruel  announcement  fell  from  Rutter's  lips 
the  real  situation,  with  all  that  it  meant  to  his  own 
future  and  those  dependent  upon  him,  stared  him  in 
the  face. 

He  looked  up  and  caught  Harry's  anxious  eyes 
scanning  his  own.  His  old-time,  unruffled  spirit  came 
to  his  assistance. 

"No,  son!"  he  cried  in  his  cheeriest  voice,  spring 
ing  to  his  feet — "  no,  we  won't  worry.  It  will  all  come 
out  right — we'll  buckle  down  to  it  together,  you  and  I. 
Don't  take  it  too  much  to  heart — we'll  get  on  some 
how." 

But  the  boy  was  not  reassured;  in  fact,  he  had  be 
come  more  anxious  than  ever.  Not  only  did  the  chill 
continue,  but  the  lump  in  his  throat  grew  larger  every 
minute. 

"But,  Uncle  George — you  told  me  you  borrowed 
the  money  to  pay  those  bills  my  father  sent  me. 
And  will  you  now  have  to  pay  that  back  as  well?" 

257 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

He  did  not  ask  of  whom  he  had  borrowed  it,  nor 
on  what  security,  nor  would  either  Pawson  or  his 
uncle  have  told  him,  that  being  a  confidential 
matter. 

"Well,  that  depends,  Harry;  but  we  won't  have  to 
pay  it  right  away,  which  is  one  comfort.  And  then 
again,  I  can  go  back  to  the  law.  I  have  yet  to  make 
my  maiden  speech  before  a  jury,  but  I  can  do  it. 
Think  of  it! — everybody  in  tears,  the  judge  mop 
ping  his  eyes — court-room  breathless.  Oh,  you  just 
wait  until  your  old  uncle  gets  on  his  feet  before  a 
bench  and  jury.  Come  along,  old  fellow — let  us  go 
up  into  the  house."  Then  in  a  serious  tone — his 
back  to  Harry — "Pawson,  please  bring  the  full 
accounts  with  you  in  the  morning,  and  now  let  me 
thank  you  for  your  courtesy.  You  have  been  ex 
tremely  civil,  sir,  and  I  appreciate  it  most  highly." 

When  they  had  reached  the  front  walk  and  were 
about  to  climb  the  immaculate  steps,  St.  George,  still 
determined  to  divert  the  boy's  thoughts  from  his  own 
financial  straits,  said  with  a  laugh:  > 

"Todd  told  you,  of  course,  about  your  father 
paying  me  a  visit  this  morning,  did  he  not?" 

"Oh,  yes! — a  most  extraordinary  account.  You 
must  have  enjoyed  it,"  replied  Harry,  trying  to  fall 
into  his  uncle's  mood,  his  heart  growing  heavier 
every  moment.  "What  did  he  want?" 

One  of  St.  George's  heat-lightning  smiles  played 
over  his  face:  "He  wanted  two  things.  He  first 
wanted  you,  and  then  he  wanted  a  receipt  for  a 

258 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

month's    board — your  board,   remember!     He   went 
away  without  either." 

A  new  perspective  suddenly  opened  up  in  Harry's 
mind;  one  that  had  a  gleam  of  sunshine  athwart  it. 

"But,  Uncle  George!"  he  burst  out— "don't  for 
get  that  my  father  owes  you  all  the  money  you  paid 
for  me!  That,  of  course,  will  eventually  come  back 
to  you."  This  came  in  a  tone  of  great  relief,  as  if 
the  money  was  already  in  his  hand. 

St.  George's  face  hardened:  "None  of  it  will  come 
back  to  me,"  he  rejoined  in  a  positive  tone.  "He 
doesn't  owe  me  one  single  penny  and  he  never  will. 
That  money  he  owes  to  you.  Whatever  you  may 
happen  to  owe  me  can  wait  until  you  are  able  to  pay 
it.  And  now  while  I  am  talking  about  it,  there  is 
another  thing  your  father  owes  you,  and  that  is  an 
humble  apology,  and  that  he  will  pay  one  of  these 
days  in  tears  and  agony.  You  are  neither  a  beggar 
nor  a  cringing  dog,  and  you  never  will  be  so  long  as  I 
can  help  it!"  He  stopped,  rested  his  hand  on  the 
boy's  shoulder,  and  with  a  quiver  in  his  voice  added: 

"Your  hand,  my  son.  Short  commons  after  this, 
may  be,  but  we  will  make  the  fight  together." 

When  the  two  passed  through  the  front  door  and 
stepped  into  the  dining-room  they  found  it  filled  with 
gentlemen — friends  who  had  heard  of  the  crash  and 
who  had  come  either  to  extend  their  sympathy  or 
offer  their  bank  accounts.  They  had  heard  of  the 
catastrophe  at  the  club  and  had  instantly  left  their 
seats  and  walked  across  the  park  in  a  body. 

259 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

To  one  and  all  St.  George  gave  a  warm  pressure 
of  the  hand  and  a  bright  smile.  Had  he  been  the 
master  of  ceremonies  at  a  state  reception  he  could  not 
have  been  more  self-possessed  or  more  gallant;  his 
troubles  were  for  himself,  never  for  his  guests. 

"All  in  a  lifetime — but  I  am  not  worrying.  The 
Patapsco  pulled  out  once  before  and  it  may  again. 
My  only  regret  is  that  I  cannot,  at  least  for  a  time, 
have  as  many  of  you  as  I  would  wish  under  my  ma 
hogany.  But  don't  let  us  borrow  any  trouble;  cer 
tainly  not  to-day.  Todd,  get  some  glasses  and  bring 
me  that  bottle  of  Madeira — the  one  there  on  the  side 
board!"  Here  he  took  the  precious  fluid  from  Todd's 
hand  and  holding  high  the  crusted  bottle  said  with  a 
dry  smile — one  his  friends  knew  when  his  irony  was 
aroused:  "That  wine,  gentlemen,  saw  the  light  at  a 
time  when  a  man  locked  his  money  in  an  iron  box  to 
keep  outside  thieves  from  stealing  it;  to-day  he  locks 
his  money  in  a  bank's  vault  and  locks  the  thieves 
in  with  it.  Extraordinary,  is  it  not,  how  we  gentle 
men  trust  each  other?  Here,  Todd,  draw  the  cork! 
.  .  .  Slowly.  .  .  .  Now  hand  me  the  bottle — yes — 
Clayton,  that's  the  same  wine  that  you  and  Kennedy 
liked  so  much  the  night  we  had  Mr.  Poe  with  us. 
It  is  really  about  all  there  is  left  of  my  father's  Black 
Warrior  of  1810.  I  thought  it  was  all  gone,  but  Todd 
found  two  more  the  other  day,  one  of  which  I  sent 
to  Kennedy.  This  is  the  other.  Kennedy  writes  me 
he  is  keeping  his  until  we  can  drink  it  together.  Is 
everybody's  glass  full?  Then  my  old  toast  if  you 

260 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

will  permit  me:  '  Here's  to  love  and  laughter,  and  every 
true  friend  of  my  true  friend  my  own!'  3 

Before  the  groups  had  dispersed  Harry  had  the 
facts  in  his  possession — principally  from  Judge  Pan- 
coast,  who  gave  him  a  full  account  of  the  bank's 
collapse,  some  papers  having  been  handed  up  to  him 
on  the  bench  that  morning.  Summed  up,  his  uncle 
was  practically  ruined — and  he,  Harry,  was  the  cause 
of  it — the  innocent  cause,  perhaps,  but  the  cause  all 
the  same:  but  for  his  father's  cruelty  and  his  own  debts 
St.  George  would  never  have  mortgaged  his  home. 
That  an  additional  sum — his  uncle's  entire  deposit — 
had  been  swallowed  up  in  the  crash  was  but  part  of 
the  same  misfortune.  Poe's  lines  were  true,  then — 
never  so  true  as  now: 

"Some  unhappy  master  whom  unmerciful  disaster 
Followed  fast  and  followed  faster  .  .    ' 

This,  then,  was  ever  after  to  be  his  place  in  life — 
to  bring  misery  wherever  he  went. 

He  caught  up  his  hat  and  walked  through  the  park 
beside  the  judge,  hoping  for  some  further  details  of  his 
uncle's  present  plight  and  future  condition,  but  the 
only  thing  his  Honor  added  to  what  he  already  knew 
was  his  wonderment  over  the  fact  that  St.  George, 
having  no  immediate  use  for  the  money  except  to  pay 
his  bills,  should  have  raised  so  large  a  sum  on  a  mort 
gage  instead  of  borrowing  it  from  his  friends.  It  was 
here  that  Harry's  heart  gave  a  bound: — no  one,  then, 

261 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

but  his  uncle,  Pawson,  and  himself  knew  that  he 
alone  was  responsible  for  the  catastrophe!  That 
his  father  should  have  learned  of  his  share  in  it  did 
not  enter  the  boy's  head. 

Todd  answered  his  knock  on  his  return,  and  in 
reply  to  his  inquiry  informed  him  that  he  must  not 
sit  up,  as  "  Marse  George"  had  left  word  that  he  would 
be  detained  until  late  at  a  meeting  of  the  creditors  of 
the  bank. 

And  so  the  unhappy  lad,  his  supper  over,  sought 
his  bed  and,  as  had  occurred  more  than  once  before, 
spent  the  earlier  hours  of  the  night  gazing  at  the  ceiling 
and  wondering  what  would  become  of  him. 


262 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

With  the  breaking  of  the  dawn  Harry's  mind  was 
made  up.  Before  the  sun  was  an  hour  high  he  had 
dressed  hurriedly,  stolen  downstairs  so  as  to  wake 
no  one,  and  closing  the  front  door  softly  behind  him 
had  taken  the  long  path  through  the  park  in  the 
direction  of  the  wharves.  Once  there,  he  made  the 
rounds  of  the  shipping  offices  from  Light  Street  wharf 
to  the  Falls — and  by  the  time  St.  George  had  finished 
dressing — certainly  before  he  was  through  his  coffee 
— had  entered  the  name  of  Henry  Rutter  on  two  sets 
of  books — one  for  a  position  as  supercargo  and  the 
other,  should  nothing  better  be  open,  as  common 
seaman.  All  he  insisted  upon  was  that  the  ship 
should  sail  at  once.  As  to  the  destination,  that  was 
of  no  consequence,  nor  did  the  length  of  the  voyage 
make  any  difference.  He  remembered  that  his  in 
timate  friend,  Gilbert,  had  some  months  before  gone 
as  supercargo  to  China,  his  father  wanting  him  to 
see  something  of  the  world;  and  if  a  similar  position 
were  open  he  could,  of  course,  give  references  as  to  his 
character — a  question  the  agent  asked  him — but,  then, 
Gilbert  had  a  father  to  help  him.  Should  no  such 
position  be  available,  he  would  ship  before  the  mast, 
or  serve  as  cook  or  cabin-boy,  or  even  scullion — but 
he  would  not  live  another  day  or  hour  dependent  on 

263 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

his  dear  Uncle  George,  who  had  impoverished  himself 
in  his  behalf. 

He  selected  the  sea  instead  of  going  into  the  army 
as  a  common  soldier  because  the  sea  had  always  ap 
pealed  to  him.  He  loved  its  freedom  and  its  dangers. 
Then  again,  he  was  young  and  strong — could  climb 
like  a  cat — sail  a  boat — swim —  Yes! — the  sea  was 
the  place!  He  could  get  far  enough  away  behind  its 
horizons  to  hide  the  struggle  he  must  make  to  ac 
complish  the  one  purpose  of  his  life — the  earning  of 
his  debt. 

Filled  with  this  idea  he  began  to  perfect  his  plans, 
determining  to  take  no  one  into  his  confidence  until 
the  day  before  the  ship  was  ready  to  sail.  He  would 
then  send  for  his  mother  and  Alec — bring  them  all 
down  to  St.  George's  house  and  announce  his  in 
tention.  That  was  the  best  and  wisest  way.  As  for 
Kate — who  had  now  been  at  home  some  weeks — he 
would  pour  out  his  heart  to  her  in  a  letter.  This  was 
better  than  an  interview,  which  she  would  doubtless 
refuse: — a  letter  she  would  be  obliged  to  read  and, 
perhaps,  answer.  As  for  his  dear  Uncle  George — it 
would  be  like  tearing  his  heart  out  to  leave  him,  but 
this  wrench  had  to  be  met  and  it  was  best  to  do  it 
quickly  and  have  done  with  it. 

When  this  last  thought  took  possession  a  sudden 
faintness  crept  over  him.  How  could  he  leave  his 
uncle  ?  What  St.  George  was  to  him  no  one  but  him 
self  knew — father,  friend,  comrade,  adviser — stand 
ard  of  men  and  morals — all  and  more  was  his  beloved 

264 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

uncle.  No  thought  of  his  heart  but  he  had  given 
him,  and  never  once  had  he  been  misunderstood.  He 
could  put  his  arm  about  his  uncle's  neck  as  he  would 
about  his  mother's  and  not  be  thought  effeminate  or 
childish.  And  the  courtesy  and  dignity  and  fairness 
with  which  he  had  been  treated;  and  the  respect  St. 
George  showed  him — and  he  only  a  boy:  compelling 
his  older  men  friends  to  do  the  same.  Never  letting 
him  feel  that  any  foolish  act  of  his  young  life  had  been 
criticised,  or  that  any  one  had  ever  thought  the  less  of 
him  because  of  them. 

Breakfast  over,  during  which  no  allusion  was  made 
either  to  what  St.  George  had  accomplished  at  the 
conference  of  creditors  the  night  before,  or  to  Harry's 
early  rising — the  boy  made  his  way  into  the  park  and 
took  the  path  he  loved.  It  was  autumn,  and  the  mild 
morning  air  bespoke  an  Indian  summer  day.  Pass 
ing  beneath  the  lusty  magnolias,  which  flaunted  here 
and  there  their  glossy  leaves,  he  paused  under  one 
of  the  big  oaks,  whose  branches,  stripped  of  most  of 
their  foliage,  still  sheltered  a  small,  vine-covered  arbor 
where  he  and  Kate  had  often  sat — indeed,  it  was 
within  its  cool  shade  that  he  had  first  told  her  of  his 
love.  Here  he  settled  himself  on  a  small  wooden  bench 
outside  the  retreat  and  gave  his  thoughts  full  rein- 
not  to  repine,  nor  to  revive  his  troubles,  which  he 
meant  to  put  behind  him — but  to  plan  out  the  letter  he 
was  to  write  Kate.  This  must  be  clear  and  convinc 
ing  and  tell  the  whole  story  of  his  heart.  That  he 
might  empty  it  the  better  he  had  chosen  this  place 

265 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

made  sacred  by  her  presence.  Then  again,  the  park 
was  generally  deserted  at  this  hour — the  hour  between 
the  passing  of  the  men  of  business  and  the  coming  of 
the  children  and  nurses — and  he  would  not  be  inter 
rupted — certainly  not  before  this  arbor — one  off  by 
itself  and  away  from  passers-by. 

He  seated  himself  on  the  bench,  his  eyes  overlook 
ing  the  park.  All  the  hours  he  had  passed  with  Kate 
beneath  the  wide-spreading  trees  rose  in  his  mind; 
the  day  they  had  read  aloud  to  each  other,  her  pretty 
feet  tucked  under  her  so  that  the  dreadful  ants  couldn't 
touch  her  dainty  stockings;  the  morning  when  she 
was  late  and  he  had  waited  and  fumed  stretching 
minutes  into  hours  in  his  impatience;  that  summer 
night  when  the  two  had  hidden  behind  the  big  oak 
so  that  he  could  kiss  her  good-night  and  none  of  the 
others  see. 

With  these  memories  stirring,  his  letter  was  forgot 
ten,  and  his  head  dropped  upon  his  breast,  as  if  the 
weight  of  all  he  had  lost  was  greater  than  he  could 
bear.  Grasping  his  walking-stick  the  tighter  he  be 
gan  tracing  figures  in  the  gravel,  his  thoughts  follow 
ing  each  line.  Suddenly  his  ears  caught  the  sound 
of  a  quick  step — one  he  thought  strangely  familiar. 

He  raised  his  eyes. 

Kate  had  passed  him  and  had  given  no  sign  of  her 
presence! 

He  sprang  from  his  seat: 

"Kate! — Kate! —  Are  you  going  to  treat  me  as  my 
father  treated  me!  Don't,  please! —  You'll  never 

266 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

see  me  again — but  don't  cut  me  like  that:   I  have 
never  done  anything  but  love  you!" 

The  girl  came  to  a  halt,  but  she  did  not  turn  her 
head,  nor  did  she  answer. 

" Please,  Kate — won't  you  speak  to  me?  It  may 
be  the  last  time  I  shall  ever  see  you.  I  am  going 
away  from  Kennedy  Square.  I  was  going  to  write 
you  a  letter;  I  came  out  here  to  think  of  what  I  ought 
to  say — 

She  raised  her  head  and  half  turned  her  trembling 
body  so  that  she  could  see  his  face,  her  eyes  reading 
his. 

"I  didn't  think  you  wanted  me  to  speak  to  you  or 
you  would  have  looked  up." 

"  I  didn't  see  you  until  you  had  passed.  Can't  we 
sit  down  here? — no  one  will  see  us." 

She  suffered  him  to  take  her  hand  and  lead  her  to 
the  bench.  There  she  sat,  her  eyes  still  searching 
his  face — a  wondering,  eager  look,  discovering  every 
moment  some  old  remembered  spot — an  eyebrow,  or 
the  line  at  the  corner  of  the  mouth,  or  the  round  of  the 
cheek — each  and  every  one  bringing  back  to  her  the 
days  that  were  past  and  gone  never  to  return. 

"You  are  going  away?"  she  said  at  last — "why? 
Aren't  you  happy  with  Uncle  George?  He  would 
miss  you,  I  am  sure."  She  had  let  the  scarf  fall  from 
her  shoulders  as  she  spoke,  bringing  into  view  the 
full  round  of  her  exquisite  throat.  He  had  caught 
its  flash,  but  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  look  the 
closer. 

267 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Not  any  more  than  I  shall  miss  him,"  he  rejoined 
sadly;  "but  he  has  lost  almost  everything  he  had  in 
the  bank  failure  and  I  cannot  have  him  support  me 
any  longer — so  I  am  going  to  sea." 

Kate  started  forward  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
wrist:  "To  sea!— in  a  ship!  Where?"  The  inquiry 
came  with  such  suddenness  and  with  so  keen  a 
note  of  pain  in  her  voice  that  Harry's  heart  gave  a 
bound.  It  was  not  St.  George's  losses  then  she  was 
thinking  of — she  was  thinking  of  him!  He  raised 
his  eyes  quickly  and  studied  her  face  the  closer;  then 
his  heart  sank  again.  No! — he  was  wrong — there 
was  only  wonder  in  her  gaze;  only  her  usual  curiosity 
to  know  every  detail  of  what  was  going  on  around  her. 

With  a  sigh  he  resumed  his  bent  position,  talking 
to  the  end  of  his  walking-stick  tracing  figures  in  the 
gravel:  "I  shall  go  to  Rio,  probably,"  he  continued 
in  the  same  despondent  tone — "or  China.  That's 
why  I  called  after  you.  I  sail  day  after  to-morrow — 
Saturday  at  the  latest — and  it  may  be  a  good  many 
years  before  I  get  back  again,  and  so  I  didn't  want  to 
go,  Kate,  without  telling  you  that — that — I  forgive 
you  for  everything  you  have  done  to  me — and  whether 
you  forgive  me  or  not,  I  have  kept  my  promises  to 
you,  and  I  will  always  keep  them  as  long  as  I  live." 

"  What  does  dear  Uncle  George  think  of  it  ?"  She 
too  was  addressing  the  end  of  the  stick;  gaining  time 
to  make  up  her  mind  what  to  do  and  say.  The  old 
wound,  of  course,  could  not  be  opened,  but  she  might 
save  him  and  herself  from  fresh  ones. 

268 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"He  doesn't  know  I  am  going;  nobody  knows  but 
you.  I  have  been  a  curse  to  every  one  who  has  been 
kind  to  me,  and  I  am  going  now  where  there  will  be 
nobody  but  strangers  about  me.  To  leave  Uncle 
George  breaks  my  heart,  but  so  does  it  break  my  heart 
to  leave  my  precious  mother  and  dear  old  Alec,  who 
cries  all  the  time  and  has  now  taken  to  his  bed,  I  hear." 

She  waited,  but  her  name  was  not  added  to  the  list, 
nor  did  he  raise  his  head. 

"I  deserve  it  all,  I  suspect,"  he  went  on,  "or  it 
wouldn't  be  sent  to  me;  but  it's  over  now.  If  I  ever 
come  back  it  will  be  when  I  am  satisfied  with  myself; 
if  I  never  come  back,  why  then  my  former  hard  luck 
has  followed  me — that's  all.  And  now  may  I  talk  to 
you,  Kate,  as  I  used  to  do  sometimes?"  He  straight 
ened  up,  threw  down  his  cane,  and  turned  his  shoul 
ders  so  he  could  look  her  squarely  in  the  eyes.  "  If  I 
say  anything  that  offends  you  you  can  get  up  and  walk 
away  and  I  won't  follow  you,  nor  will  I  add  another 
word.  You  may  never  see  me  again,  and  if  it  is  not 
what  I  ought  to  say,  you  can  forget  it  all  when  I  am 
gone.  Kate!" — he  paused,  and  for  a  moment  it  was 
all  he  could  do  to  control  himself.  "What  I  want  to 
tell  you  first  is  this — that  I  haven't  had  a  happy  day 
or  hour  since  that  night  on  the  stairs  in  my  father's 
house.  Whether  I  was  right  or  wrong  I  don't  know; 
what  followed  is  what  I  couldn't  help,  but  that  part  I 
don't  regret,  and  if  any  one  should  behave  to  you 
as  Willits  did  I  would  do  it  over  again.  What  I  do 
regret  is  the  pain  it  has  caused  you.  And  now  here 

269 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

comes  this  awful  sorrow  to  Uncle  George,  and  I  am 
the  cause  of  that  too." 

She  turned  her  face  quickly,  the  color  leaving  her 
cheeks  as  if  alarmed.  Had  he  been  behaving  badly 
again  ?  But  he  swept  it  away  with  his  next  sentence 

"  You  see,  my  father  refused  to  pay  any  of  the  bills 
I  owed  and  Uncle  George  paid  them  for  me — and  I 
can't  have  that  go  on  a  day  longer — certainly  not  now." 

Kate's  shoulders  relaxed.  A  sigh  of  relief  spent  it 
self;  Harry  was  still  an  honest  gentleman,  whatever 
else  he  might  have  done! 

"  And  now  comes  the  worst  of  it,  Kate."  His  voice 
sank  almost  to  a  whisper,  as  if  even  the  birds  should 
not  hear  this  part  of  his  confession :  "  Yes — the  worst 
of  it — that  I  have  had  all  this  to  suffer — all  this  mis 
ery  to  endure — all  these  insults  of  my  father  to  bear 
without  you!  Always,  before,  we  have  talked  things 
out  together;  then  you  were  shut  away  and  I  could 
only  look  up  at  your  windows  and  rack  my  brain 
wondering  where  you  were  and  what  you  were  doing. 
It's  all  over  now — you  love  somebody  else — but  I 
shall  never  love  anybody  else:  I  can't!  I  don't  want 
to!  You  are  the  last  thing  I  kiss  before  I  close  my 
eyes;  I  shut  them  and  kiss  only  the  air — but  it  is 
your  lips  I  feel;  and  you  are  the  first  thing  I  open 
them  upon  when  I  wake.  It  will  always  be  so,  Kate 
— you  are  my  body,  my  soul,  and  my  life.  I  shall 
never  have  you  again,  I  know,  but  I  shall  have  your 
memory,  and  that  is  sweeter  and  more  precious  to  me 
than  all  else  in  the  world!" 

270 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Harry!"  There  was  a  strange  cadence  in  her 
voice — not  of  self-defence — not  of  recrimination — only 
of  overwhelming  pity:  "Don't  you  think  that  I  too 
have  had  my  troubles  ?  Do  you  think  it  was  nothing 
to  me  to  love  you  as  I  did  and  have — "  She  stopped, 
drew  in  her  breath  as  if  to  bolster  up  some  inward 
resolution,  and  then  with  a  brave  lift  of  the  head 
added:  "No,  I  won't  go  into  that — not  to-day." 

"  Yes — tell  me  all  of  it — you  can't  hurt  me  more  than 
you  have  done.  But  you  may  be  right — no,  we  won't 
talk  of  that  part  of  it.  And  now,  Kate,  I  won't  ask 
you  to  stay  any  longer;  I  am  glad  I  saw  you — it  was 
better  than  writing.''  He  leaned  forward:  "Let  me 
look  into  your  face  once  more,  won't  you  ? — so  I  can 
remember  the  better.  .  .  .  Yes — the  same  dear  eyes — 
and  the  hair  growing  low  on  the  temples,  and  the  beau 
tiful  mouth  and — No — I  sha'n't  forget — I  never  have." 
He  rose  from  his  seat  and  held  out  his  hand:  "You'll 
take  it,  won't  you? — just  once —  Good-by!" 

She  had  not  moved,  nor  had  she  grasped  his  hand; 
her  face  was  still  towards  him,  her  whole  frame  tense, 
the  tears  crowding  to  the  lids. 

"Sit  down,  Harry.  I  can't  let  you  go  like  this. 
Tell  me  something  more  of  where  you  are  going. 
Why  must  you  go  to  sea  ?  Can't  you  support  yourself 
here? — isn't  there  something  you  can  get  to  do?  I 
will  see  my  father  and  find  out  if " 

"No,  you  won't."  There  was  a  note  almost  of 
defiance  in  his  voice — one  she  had  never  heard  before. 
"I  am  through  with  accepting  favors  from  any  liv- 

271 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

ing  man.  Hereafter  I  stand  in  my  own  shoes,  inde 
pendent  of  everybody.  My  father  is  the  only  person 
who  has  a  right  to  give  me  help,  and  as  he  refuses 
absolutely  to  do  anything  more  than  pay  my  board,  I 
must  fall  back  on  myself.  I  didn't  see  these  things 
in  this  same  way  when  Uncle  George  paid  my  debts, 
or  even  when  he  took  me  into  his  home  as  his  guest, 
but  I  do  now." 

Something  gave  a  little  bound  in  Kate's  heart.  This 
manly  independence  was  one  of  the  things  she  had 
in  the  old  days  hoped  was  in  him.  What  had  come 
over  her  former  lover,  she  wondered. 

"And  another  thing,  Kate" — she  was  listening  eag 
erly — she  could  not  believe  it  was  Harry  who  was 
speaking — "  if  you  were  to  tell  me  this  moment  that 
you  loved  me  again  and  would  marry  me,  and  I  still 
be  as  I  am  to-day — outlawed  by  my  father  and  de 
pendent  on  charity — I  would  not  do  it.  I  can't  live 
on  your  money,  and  I  have  none  of  my  own.  Fur 
thermore,  I  owe  dear  Uncle  George  his  money  in  such 
a  way  that  I  can  never  pay  it  back  except  I  earn  it, 
and  that  I  can't  do  here.  To  borrow  it  of  somebody 
else  to  pay  him  would  be  more  disgraceful  still." 

Again  her  heart  gave  a  bound.  Her  father  had 
followed  the  opposite  course,  and  she  knew  for  a  cer 
tainty  just  what  some  men  thought  of  him,  and  she 
could  as  easily  recall  half  a  dozen  younger  men  who 
had  that  very  summer  been  willing  to  play  the  same 
game  with  herself.  Something  warm  and  sympathetic 
struggled  up  through  her  reserve. 

272 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Would  you  stay,  Harry,  if  I  asked  you  to?"  she 
said  in  almost  a  whisper.  She  had  not  meant  to  put 
the  question  quite  in  that  way,  but  somehow  it  had 
asked  itself. 

He  looked  at  her  with  his  soft  brown  eyes,  the  long 
lashes  shading  their  tender  brilliancy.  He  had  guessed 
nothing  of  the  newly  awakened  throb  in  her  heart; 
only  his  situation  stared  him  in  the  face,  and  in  this 
she  had  no  controlling  interest;  nor  could  she  now 
that  she  loved  somebody  else. 

"No,  Kate,  it  wouldn't  alter  anything.  It  would 
be  putting  off  the  day  when  it  would  all  have  to  be 
done  over  again;  and  then  it  would  be  still  worse  be 
cause  of  the  hopes  it  had  raised." 

"Do  you  really  mean,  Harry,  that  you  would  not 
stay  if  I  asked  you?"  It  was  not  her  heart  which  was 
speaking,  but  the  pride  of  the  woman  who  had  always 
had  her  own  way. 

"  I  certainly  do,"  he  answered  emphatically,  his  voice 
ringing  clear.  "  Every  day  I  lose  is  just  so  much  taken 
from  a  decent,  independent  life." 

A  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  swept  through  her. 
This  was  the  last  thing  she  had  expected  from  Harry. 
What  had  come  over  him  that  he  should  deny  her 
anything? — he  who  had  always  obeyed  her  slightest 
wish.  Then  a  new  thought  entered  her  head — why 
should  she  humble  herself  to  ask  any  more  questions  ? 
With  a  quick  movement  she  gained  her  feet  and  stood 
toying  with  her  dress,  arranging  the  lace  scarf  about 
her  throat,  tightening  the  wide  strings  that  held  her 

273 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

teacup  of  a  bonnet  close  to  her  face.  She  raised  her 
eyes  and  stole  a  glance  at  him.  The  lips  were  still 
firmly  set  with  the  resolve  that  had  tightened  them, 
but  his  eyes  were  brimming  tears. 

As  suddenly  as  her  pride  had  risen  did  it  die  out. 
All  the  tenderness  of  her  nature  welled  up.  She  made 
one  step  in  his  direction.  She  was  about  to  speak, 
but  he  had  not  moved,  nor  did  his  face  relax.  She 
saw  that  nothing  could  shake  his  resolve;  they  were 
as  far  apart  as  if  the  seas  already  rolled  between  them. 
She  held  out  her  hand,  and  with  that  same  note  of 
infinite  pathos  which  he  knew  so  well  when  she  spoke 
straight  from  her  heart,  said  as. she  laid  her  fingers 
in  his: 

"  Good-by,  and  God  bless  you,  Harry." 

"Good-by,  Kate,"  he  murmured  in  barely  audible 
tones.  "May  I — may  I — kiss  you  on  the  forehead, 
as  I  always  used  to  do  when  I  left  you " 

She  bent  her  head:  he  leaned  over  and  touched  the 
spot  with  his  lips  as  reverently  as  a  sinner  kisses  the 
garment  of  a  saint,  then,  choking  down  her  tears,  all 
her  body  unstrung,  her  mind  in  a  whirl,  she  turned  and 
passed  out  of  the  park. 

That  same  afternoon  Kate  called  her  father  into 
her  little  sitting-room  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  and  shut 
the  door. 

"Harry  Rutter  is  going  to  sea  as  a  common  sailor 
on  one  of  the  ships  leaving  here  in  a  couple  of 
days.  Can  you  find  out  which  one? — it  may  be 

274 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

one  of  your  own."  He  was  still  perfunctory  agent 
of  the  line. 

"Young  Rutter  going  to  sea!" — the  nomenclature 
of  "my  dear  Harry"  had  ended  since  the  colonel  had 
disinherited  him.  "Well — that  is  news!  I  suspect 
that  will  be  the  best  place  for  him;  then  if  he  plays  any 
of  his  pranks  there  will  be  somebody  around  with  a 
cat-o'-nine-tails  to  take  it  out  of  him.  Going  to  sea, 
is  he?" 

Kate  looked  at  him  with  lowered  lids,  her  lips 
curling  slightly,  but  she  did  not  defend  the  culprit. 
It  was  only  one  of  what  Prim  called  his  "jokes:" 
he  was  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  wish  any  such 
punishment.  Moreover,  she  knew  her  father  much 
better  than  the  Honorable  Prim  knew  his  daughter, 
and  whenever  she  had  a  favor  to  ask  was  invariably 
careful  not  to  let  his  little  tea-kettle  boil  over. 

"  Only  a  short  time  ago,  father,  you  got  a  berth 
as  supercargo  on  one  of  my  grandfather's  ships  for 
Mark  Gilbert.  Can't  you  do  it  for  Harry?" 

"But,  Kate,  that  was  quite  a  different  thing. 
Mark's  father  came  to  me  and  asked  it  as  a  special 
favor."  His  assumed  authority  at  the  shipping  office 
rarely  extended  to  the  appointing  of  officers — not 
when  the  younger  partners  objected. 

"Well,  Harry's  father  won't  come  to  you,  nor  will 
Harry;  and  it  isn't  a  different  thing.  It's  exactly 
the  same  thing  so  far  as  you  are  concerned,  and 
there  is  a  greater  reason  for  Harry,  for  he  is  alone 
in  the  world  and  he  is  not  used  to  hard  work  of 

275 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

any  kind,  and  it  is  cruel  to  make  a  common  sailor 
of  him." 

"  Why,  I  thought  Temple  was  fathering  him." 

"So  Uncle  George  has,  and  would  always  look 
after  him,  but  Harry  is  too  brave  and  manly  to  live 
upon  him  any  longer,  now  that  Uncle  George  has 
lost  most  of  his  money.  Will  you  see  Mr.  Pendergast, 
or  shall  I  go  down  to  the  office?" 

Prim  mused  for  a  moment.  "There  may  not  be 
a  vacancy,"  he  ventured,  "but  I  will  inquire.  The 
Ranger  sails  on  Friday  for  the  River  Plate,  and  I  will 
have  Mr.  Pendergast  come  and  see  me.  Supercargoes 
are  of  very  little  use,  my  dear,  unless  they  have  had 
some  business  training,  and  this  young  man,  of  course, 
has  had  none  at  all." 

"This  young  man,  indeed!"  thought  Kate  with  a 
sigh,  stifling  her  indignation.  "Poor  Harry! — no  one 
need  treat  him  any  longer  with  even  common  courtesy, 
now  that  St.  George,  his  last  hold,  had  been  swept 
away." 

"I  think  on  the  whole  I  had  better  attend  to  it 
myself,"  she  added  with  some  impatience.  "  I  don't 
want  anything  to  go  wrong  about  it." 

"No,  I'll  see  him,  Kate;  just  leave  it  all  to  me." 

He  had  already  decided  what  to  do — or  what  he 
would  try  to  do — when  he  first  heard  the  boy  wanted 
to  leave  the  country.  What  troubled  him  was  what 
the  managing  partner  of  the  line  might  think  of  the 
proposition.  As  long  as  Harry  remained  at  home  and 
within  reach  any  number  of  things  might  happen — 

276 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

even  a  return  of  the  old  love.  With  the  scapegrace 
half-way  around  the  world  some  other  man  might 
have  a  chance — Willits,  especially,  who  had  proved 
himself  in  every  way  worthy  of  his  daughter,  and  who 
would  soon  be  one  of  the  leading  lawyers  of  the  State 
if  he  kept  on. 

With  the  closing  of  the  door  upon  her  father,  Kate 
threw  herself  upon  her  lounge.  One  by  one  the  sa 
lient  features  of  her  interview  with  Harry  passed  in 
review:  his  pleading  for  some  word  of  comfort;  some 
note  of  forgiveness  with  which  to  cheer  the  hours  of 
his  exile. — "  You  are  the  last  thing  I  kiss  before  I  close 
my  eyes."  Then  his  open  defiance  of  her  expressed 
wishes  when  they  conflicted  with  his  own  set  purpose 
of  going  away  and  staying  away  until  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  return.  While  the  first  brought  with  it 
a  certain  contented  satisfaction — something  she  had 
expected  and  was  glad  of — the  last  aroused  only  indig 
nation  and  revolt.  Her  brow  tightened,  and  the  de 
termination  of  the  old  seadog — her  grandfather  Bar- 
keley — played  over  her  countenance.  She  no  longer, 
then,  filled  Harry's  life,  controlling  all  his  actions;  she 
no  longer  inspired  his  hopes.  Rather  than  marry  her 
he  would  work  as  a  common  sailor.  Yes — he  had 
said  so,  and  with  his  head  up  and  his  voice  ringing 
brave  and  clear.  She  was  proud  of  him  for  it — she 
had  never  been  so  proud  of  him — but  why  no  trace 
of  herself  in  his  resolve,  except  in  his  allusion  to  the 
duel,  when  he  said  he  would  do  it  again  should  any 
one  insult  her  ?  It  was  courteous,  of  course,  for  him 

277 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

to  feel  that  way,  however  much  she  abhorred  the 
system  of  settling  such  disputes.  But,  then,  he 
would  do  that  for  any  other  woman — would,  no 
doubt,  for  some  woman  he  had  not  yet  seen.  In 
this  he  was  the  son  of  his  father  and  the  same  Harry 
— but  in  everything  else  he  was  a  changed  man — 
and  never  more  changed  than  in  his  attitude  tow 
ard  her. 

With  these  thoughts  racking  her  brain  she  rose 
from  the  lounge  and  began  pacing  the  floor,  peering 
out  between  the  curtains  of  her  room,  her  eyes  wan 
dering  over  the  park  as  if  she  could  still  see  him  be 
tween  the  branches.  Then  her  mind  cleared  and  the 
true  situation  developed  itself: — for  months  she  had 
hugged  to  herself  the  comforting  thought  that  she  had 
only  to  stretch  out  her  hand  and  bring  him  to  her 
feet.  He  had  now  looked  her  full  in  the  face  and  pro 
claimed  his  freedom.  It  was  as  if  she  had  caged  a 
bird  and  found  the  door  open  and  the  prisoner  sing 
ing  in  a  tree  overhead. 

That  same  night  she  sat  by  her  wood  fire  in  her 
chamber,  her  old  black  mammy — Mammy  Henny — 
bending  close,  combing  out  her  marvellous  hair.  She 
had  been  studying  the  coals,  watching  the  little  cas 
tles  pile  and  fall;  the  quick  smothering  of  slowly 
fading  sparks  under  a  blanket  of  gray  ashes,  and  the 
wavering,  flickering  light  that  died  on  the  curling 
smoke.  She  had  not  spoken  for  a  long  time,  when 
the  old  woman  roused  her. 

278 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  Whar  was  you  dis  mawnin',  honey  chile  ?  Mister 
Willits  done  wait  mo'n  ha'f  a  hour,  den  he  say  he 
come  back  an'  fetch  his  sorrel  horse  wid  him  dis  arter- 
noon  an*  take  ye  ridin'.  But  he  ain't  come — dat  is, 
Ben  done  tol'  me  so." 

"No,  mammy,"  she  answered  wearily — "I  sent  him 
word  not  to — I  didn't  feel  like  riding  to-day." 


279 


CHAPTER  XIX 

Over  two  years  have  passed  away  since  that  mourn 
ful  night  when  Harry  with  his  hand  in  St.  George's, 
his  voice  choking,  had  declared  his  determination  to 
leave  him  the  next  day  and  seek  his  fortunes  across 
the  seas. 

It  was  a  cruel  blow  to  Temple,  coming  as  it  did  on 
the  heels  of  his  own  disaster,  but  when  the  first  shock 
had  passed  he  could  but  admire  the  lad  for  his  pluck 
and  love  him  the  better  for  his  independence. 

"All  right,  my  son,"  he  had  said,  concealing  as 
best  he  could  his  intense  suffering  over  the  loss  of  his 
companion.  "  I'll  try  and  get  along.  But  remember 
I  am  here— and  the  door  is  always  open.  I  don't 
blame  you— I  would  do  the  same  thing  were  I  in 
your  place.  And  now  about  Kate— what  shall  I  say 

to  her?" 

"  Nothing.  I  said  it  all  this  morning.  She  doesn't 
love  me  any  more— she  would  have  passed  me  by 
without  speaking  had  I  not  called  to  her.  She'll 
be  married  to  Willits  before  I  come  back— if  I  ever 
do  come  back.  But  leaving  Kate  is  easier  than  leav 
ing  you.  You  have  stuck  to  me  all  the  way  through, 
and  Kate— well— perhaps  she  hasn't  understood- 
perhaps  her  father  has  been  talking  to  her— I  don't 

280 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

know.  Anyhow,  it's  all  over.  If  I  had  had  any 
doubts  about  it  before,  this  morning's  talk  settled  it. 
The  sea  is  the  best  place  for  me.  I  can  support  my 
self  anyway  for  a  while  until  I  can  help  you." 

Yes!  the  boy  was  right,  St.  George  had  said  to 
himself.  It  was  all  over  between  them.  Kate's  rea 
son  had  triumphed  at  last.  She,  perhaps,  was  not  to 
blame.  Her  experiences  had  been  trying  and  she 
was  still  confronted  by  influences  bitterly  opposed  to 
Harry,  and  largely  in  favor  of  Willits,  for,  weak  speci 
men  as  Prim  was,  he  was  still  her  father,  and  in  so  im 
portant  a  step  as  her  marriage,  must  naturally  exer 
cise  authority.  As  for  his  own  influence,  that,  he 
realized,  had  come  to  an  end  at  their  last  interview: 
the  whole  thing,  he  must  admit,  was  disappointing — 
cruelly  so — the  keenest  disappointment  of  his  life. 

Many  a  night  since  he  bid  Harry  good-by  had  he 
sat  alone  by  that  same  fire,  his  dogs  his  only  com 
panions,  the  boy's  words  ringing  in  his  ears:  "Leav 
ing  Kate  is  easier  than  leaving  you!"  Had  it  been 
the  other  way  and  he  the  exile,  it  would  have  been 
nearer  the  truth,  he  often  thought,  for  nothing  in  his 
whole  life  had  left  so  great  a  void  in  his  heart  as  the 
loss  of  the  boy  he  loved.  Not  that  he  was  ever  com 
pletely  disheartened;  that  was  not  his  nature;  there 
was  always  daylight  ahead — the  day  when  Harry  would 
come  back  and  their  old  life  begin  again.  With  this 
in  store  for  him  he  had  led  his  life  as  best  he  could, 
visiting  his  friends  in  the  country,  entertaining  in  a 
simple,  inexpensive  way,  hunting  at  Wesley,  where  he 

281 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

and  Peggy  Coston  would  exchange  confidences  and 
funny  stories;  dining  out;  fishing  in  the  early  spring; 
getting  poorer  and  poorer  in  pocket,  and  yet  never 
complaining,  his  philosophy  being  that  it  would  be 
brighter  in  the  morning,  and  it  always  was — to  him. 

And  yet  if  the  truth  be  told  his  own  situation  had  not 
improved — in  fact,  it  had  grown  steadily  worse.  Only 
one  payment  of  interest  had  been  made  on  the  mort 
gage  and  the  owner  was  already  threatening  foreclosure 
proceedings.  Pawson's  intervention  alone  had  staved 
off  the  fatal  climax  by  promising  the  holder  to  keep  the 
loan  alive  by  the  collection  of  some  old  debts — bor 
rowed  money  and  the  like — due  St.  George  for  years 
and  which  his  good  nature  had  allowed  to  run  on  in 
definitely  until  some  of  them  were  practically  outlawed. 
Indeed  it  was  only  through  resources  like  this,  in  all  of 
which  Pawson  helped,  and  with  the  collecting  of  some 
small  ground  rents,  that  kept  Todd  and  Jemima  in 
their  places  and  the  larder  comfortably  filled.  As  to 
the  bank — there  was  still  hope  that  some  small  per 
centage  would  be  paid  the  depositors,  it  being  the 
general  opinion  that  the  directors  were  personally  liable 
because  of  the  irregularities  which  the  smash  had  un 
covered — but  this  would  take  months,  if  not  years,  to 
work  out. 

His  greatest  comfort  was  in  the  wanderer's  letters. 
These  he  would  watch  for  with  the  eagerness  of  a  girl 
hungry  for  news  of  her  distant  lover.  For  the  first 
few  months  these  came  by  every  possible  mail,  most 
of  them  directed  to  himself;  others  to  his  mother,  Mrs. 

282 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Rutter  driving  in  from  Moorlands  to  compare  notes 
with  St.  George.  Then,  as  the  boy  made  his  way  fur 
ther  into  the  interior  the  intervals  were  greater — some 
times  a  month  passed  without  news  of  him. 

"  We  are  short-handed/'  he  wrote  St.  George, "  owing 
to  fever  on  the  voyage  out  on  the  Ranger,  and  though 
I  am  supercargo  and  sit  at  the  captain's  table,  I  have 
to  turn  to  and  work  like  any  of  the  others — fine  exer 
cise,  but  my  hands  are  cracked  and  blistered  and 
full  of  tar.  I'll  have  to  wear  gloves  the  next  time  I 
dine  with  you." 

Not  a  word  of  this  to  his  mother — no  such  hardships 
for  her  tender  ears: 

"Tell  me  about  Kate,  mother" — this  from  Rio — 
"  how  she  looks;  what  she  says;  does  she  ever  mention 
my  name?  My  love  to  Alec.  Is  Matthew  still  car 
ing  for  Spitfire,  or  has  my  father  sold  her?"  Then 
followed  the  line:  "Give  my  father  my  respectful  re 
gards;  I  would  send  my  love,  but  he  no  longer  cares 
for  it." 

The  dear  lady  did  not  deliver  the  message.  Indeed 
Harry's  departure  had  so  widened  the  breach  between 
the  colonel  and  herself  that  they  practically  occupied 
different  parts  of  the  house  as  far  removed  from  each 
other  as  possible.  She  had  denounced  him  first  to  his 
face  for  the  boy's  self-imposed  exile,  and  again  be 
hind  his  back  to  her  intimates.  Nor  did  her  resolve 
waver  even  when  the  colonel  was  thrown  from  his 
horse  and  so  badly  hurt  that  his  eyesight  was  greatly 
impaired.  "  It  is  a  judgment  on  you,"  she  had  said, 

283 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

drawing  her  frail  body  up  to  its  full  height.  "You 
will  now  learn  what  other  people  suffer,"  and  would 
have  kept  on  upstairs  to  her  own  room  had  not  her 
heart  softened  at  his  helplessness — a  new  role  for 
the  colonel. 

He  had  made  no  answer  at  the  time:  he  never 
answered  her  back.  She  was  too  frail  to  be  angry 
with,  and  then  she  was  right  about  his  being  the 
cause  of  her  suffering — the  first  cause  of  it,  at  least. 
He  had  not  yet  arrived  at  the  point  where  he  cen 
sured  himself  for  all  that  had  happened.  In  fact 
since  Harry's  sudden  exit,  made  without  a  word  to 
anybody  at  Moorlands  except  his  mother  and  Alec, 
who  went  to  town  on  a  hurry  message, — a  slight 
which  cut  him  to  the  quick — he  had  steadily  laid 
the  blame  on  everybody  else  connected  with  the  affair; 
— generally  on  St.  George  for  his  interference  in  his 
peace-making  programme  at  the  club  and  his  refusal, 
when  ruined  financially,  to  send  the  boy  back  to  him 
in  an  humble  and  contrite  spirit.  Neither  had  he 
recovered  from  the  wrath  he  had  felt  when,  having 
sent  John  Gorsuch  to  ascertain  from  St.  George  the 
amount  of  money  he  had  paid  out  for  his  son,  Temple 
had  politely  sent  Gorsuch,  in  charge  of  Todd,  down 
stairs  to  Pawson,  who  in  turn,  after  listening  to 
Todd's  whispered  message,  had  with  equal  politeness 
shown  Gorsuch  the  door,  the  colonel's  signed  check — 
the  amount  unfilled — still  in  Gorsuch's  pocket. 

It  was  only  when  the  Lord  of  Moorlands  went  into 
town  to  spend  an  hour  or  so  with  Kate — and  he  was 

284 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

a  frequent  visitor  prior  to  his  accident — that  his  old 
manner  returned.  He  loved  the  girl  dearly  and  was 
never  tired  of  talking  to  her.  She  was  the  only  woman 
who  would  listen  when  he  poured  out  his  heart. 

And  Kate  always  welcomed  him  gladly.  She  liked 
strong,  decided  men  even  if  they  sometimes  erred 
in  their  conclusions.  Her  grandfather,  old  Captain 
Barkeley,  had  had  the  same  masterfulness.  He  had 
been  in  absolute  command  in  his  earlier  years,  and  he 
had  kept  in  command  all  his  life.  His  word  was 
law,  and  he  was  generally  right.  She  was  twelve 
years  old  when  he  died,  and  had,  therefore,  ample 
opportunity  to  know.  It  was  her  grandfather's  strong 
personality,  in  fact,  which  had  given  her  so  clear  an 
idea  of  her  father's  many  weaknesses.  Rutter,  she 
felt,  was  a  combination  of  both  Barkeley  and  Prim — 
forceful  and  yet  warped  by  prejudices;  dominating 
yet  intolerant;  able  to  do  big  things  and  contented 
with  little  ones.  It  was  forcefulness,  despite  his  many 
shortcomings,  which  most  appealed  to  her. 

Moreover,  she  saw  much  of  Harry  in  him.  It  was 
that  which  made  her  so  willing  to  listen — she  con 
tinually  comparing  the  father  to  the  son.  These  com 
parisons  were  invariably  made  in  a  circle,  beginning 
at  Rutter's  brown  eyes,  taking  in  his  features  and 
peculiarities — many  of  them  reproduced  in  his  son's 
— such  as  the  firm  set  of  the  lips  and  the  square  line 
of  the  chin — and  ending,  quite  naturally,  with  the 
brown  orbs  again.  While  Harry's  matched  the  color 
and  shape,  and  often  the  fierce  glare  of  the  father's, 

285 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

they  could  also,  she  said  to  herself,  shine  with  the  soft 
light  of  the  mother's.  It  was  from  the  mother's  side, 
then,  that  there  came  the  willingness  to  yield  to  what 
ever  tempted  him — it  may  be  to  drink — to  a  false  sense 
of  honor — to  herself:  Harry  being  her  slave  instead  of 
her  master.  And  the  other  men  around  her — so  far 
as  yielding  was  concerned  (here  her  brow  would 
tighten  and  her  lips  straighten) — were  no  better. 
Even  Uncle  George  must  take  her  own  "No"  for  an 
answer  and  believe  it  when  she  meant  quite  a  different 
thing.  And  once  more  would  her  soul  break  out  in 
revolt  over  the  web  in  which  she  had  become  entangled, 
and  once  more  would  she  cry  herself  to  sleep. 

Nobody  but  her  old  black  mammy  knew  how  tragic 
had  been  her  sufferings,  how  many  bitter  hours  she 
had  passed,  nor  how  many  bitter  tears  she  had 
shed.  Yet  even  old  Henny  could  not  comfort  her, 
nor  was  there  any  one  else  to  whom  the  girl  could  pour 
out  her  heart.  She  had,  it  is  true,  kept  up  her  in 
timacy  with  her  Uncle  George — hardly  a  week  passed 
that  she  was  not  a  visitor  at  his  house  or  he  at  hers 
— but  they  had  long  since  refrained  from  discussing 
Harry.  Not  because  he  did  not  want  to  talk  about 
him,  but  because  she  would  not  let  him —  Of  course 
not! 

To  Richard  Horn,  however,  strange  to  say,  she 
often  turned — not  so  much  for  confidences  as  for  a 
broader  understanding  of  life.  The  thoughtful  in 
ventor  was  not  so  hedged  about  by  social  restrictions, 
and  would  break  out  in  spontaneous  admiration  of 

286 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Harry,  saying  with  a  decisive  nod  of  his  head,  "A 
fine,  splendid  young  fellow,  my  dear  Kate;  I  recog 
nized  it  first  at  St.  George's  dinner  to  Mr.  Poe,  and  if 
I  may  say  so,  a  much-abused  young  man  whose  only 
sin  is  that  he,  like  many  another  about  us,  has  been 
born  under  a  waning  star  in  a  sky  full  of  murky 
clouds;  one  that  the  fresh  breeze  of  a  new  civiliza 
tion  will  some  day  clear  away" — a  deduction  which 
Kate  could  not  quite  grasp,  but  which  comforted  her 
greatly. 

It  delighted  her,  too,  to  hear  him  talk  of  the  notable 
occurrences  taking  place  about  them.  "You  are 
wonderfully  intelligent,  my  dear,"  he  had  said  to  her 
on  one  occasion,  "and  should  miss  nothing  of  the  de 
velopments  that  are  going  on  about  us;"  and  in  proof 
of  it  had  the  very  next  day  taken  her  to  an  exhibition 
of  Mr.  Morse's  new  telegraph,  given  at  the  Institute, 
at  which  two  operators,  each  with  an  instrument,  the 
men  in  sight  of  each  other,  but  too  far  apart  to  be  in 
collusion,  were  sending  and  answering  the  messages 
through  wires  stretched  around  the  hall.  She,  at 
Richard's  suggestion,  had  written  a  message  herself, 
which  she  handed  to  the  nearest  operator  who  had 
ticked  it  to  his  fellow,  and  who  at  once  read  it  to  the 
audience.  Even  then  many  doubting  Thomases  had 
cried  out  "  Collusion,"  until  Richard,  rising  in  his  seat, 
had  not  onlv  endorsed  the  truth  of  the  reading,  but 
explained  the  invention,  his  statement  silencing  all 
opposition  because  of  his  well-known  standing  and 
knowledge  of  kindred  sciences. 

287 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Richard's  readings  also,  from  which  Kate  was  never 
absent,  and  which  had  now  been  resumed  at  his  own 
house,  greatly  interested  her.  These  of  late  had  been 
devoted  to  many  of  Poe's  earlier  poems  and  later  tales, 
for  despite  the  scene  at  St.  George's  the  inventor  had 
never  ceased  to  believe  in  the  poet. 

And  so  with  these  occupations,  studies,  investiga 
tions,  and  social  pleasures — she  never  missing  a  ball 
or  party  (Willits  always  managing  to  be  with  her) — 
and  the  spending  of  the  summer  months  at  the  Red 
Sulphur,  where  she  had  been  pursued  by  half  a  dozen 
admirers — one  a  titled  Englishman — had  the  days 
and  hours  of  the  years  of  Harry's  absence  passed 
slowly  away. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  winter  a  slight  change 
occurred  in  the  monotony  of  her  life.  Her  constant, 
unwavering  devotee,  Langdon  Willits,  fell  ill  and  had 
to  be  taken  to  the  Eastern  Shore,  where  the  same  old 
lot  of  bandages — that  is  of  the  same  pattern — and 
the  same  loyal  sister  were  impressed  into  service  to 
nurse  him  back  to  health.  The  furrow  Harry's  bul 
let  had  ploughed  in  his  head  still  troubled  him  at 
times,  especially  in  the  hot  weather,  and  a  horseback 
ride  beside  Kate  one  August  day,  with  the  heat  in 
the  nineties,  had  started  the  subsoil  of  his  cranium 
to  aching  with  such  vehemence  that  Teackle  had 
promptly  packed  it  in  ice  and  ten  days  later  its 
owner  in  blankets  and  had  put  them  both  aboard  the 
bay  boat  bound  for  the  Eastern  Shore. 

Whether  this  new  irritant — and  every  thing  seemed 
288 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

to  annoy  her  now — had  begun  to  tell  on  our  beautiful 
Kate,  or  whether  the  gayety  of  the  winter  both  at 
home  and  in  Washington,  where  she  had  spent  some 
weeks  during  the  season,  had  tired  her  out,  certain  it 
was  that  when  the  spring  came  the  life  had  gone  out 
of  her  step  and  the  color  from  her  cheeks.  Mammy 
Henny  had  noticed  it  and  had  coddled  her  the  more, 
crooning  and  petting  her;  and  her  father  had  noticed 
it  and  had  begun  to  be  anxious,  and  at  last  St.  George 
had  stalked  in  and  cried  out  in  that  breezy,  joyous 
way  of  his  that  nothing  daunted: 

"  Here,  you  sweetheart! — what  have  you  been  doing 
to  your  cheeks — all  the  roses  out  of  them  and  pale  as 
two  lilies— and  you  never  out  of  bed  until  twelve 
o'clock  in  the  day  and  looking  then  as  if  you  hadn't 
had  a  wink  of  sleep  all  night.  Not  a  word  out  of 
you,  Seymour,  until  I've  finished.  I'm  going  to  take 
Kate  down  to  Tom  Coston's  and  keep  her  there  till 
she  gets  well.  Too  many  stuffy  balls — too  many  late 
suppers — oyster  roasts  and  high  doings.  None  of 
that  at  Tom's.  Up  at  six  and  to  bed  at  ten.  I've 
just  had  a  letter  from  him  and  dear  Peggy  is  crazy 
to  have  us  come.  Take  your  mare  along,  Kate,  and 
you  won't  lack  fresh  air.  Now  what  do  you  say, 
Seymour  ?  " 

Of  course  the  Honorable  Prim  bobbed  his  honorable 
head  and  said  he  had  been  worried  himself  over  Kate's 
loss  of  appetite,  and  that  if  Temple  would,  etc.,  etc. — 
he  would — etc.,  etc. — and  so  Mammy  Henny  began  to 
get  pink  and  white  and  other  fluffy  things  together, 

289 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

and  Ben,  with  Todd  to  help,  led  Joan,  her  own  be 
loved  saddle  horse,  down  to  the  dock  and  saw  that 
she  was  safely  lodged  between  decks,  and  then  up 
came  a  coach  (all  this  was  two  days  later)  and  my  lady 
drove  off  with  two  hair  trunks  in  front  and  a  French 
bonnet  box  behind — St.  George  beside  her,  and  fat 
Mammy  Henny  in  white  kerchief  and  red  bandanna, 
opposite,  and  Todd  in  one  of  St.  George's  old  shooting- 
jackets  on  the  box  next  the  driver,  with  his  feet  on  two 
of  the  dogs,  the  others  having  been  loaned  to  a  friend. 

And  it  was  a  great  leave-taking  when  the  party 
reached  the  wharf.  Not  only  were  three  or  four  of  her 
girl  friends  present,  but  a  dozen  or  more  of  the  old 
merchants  forsook  their  desks,  when  the  coach  unlim- 
bered,  most  of  them  crossing  the  cobbles — some  bare 
headed,  and  all  of  them  in  high  stocks  and  swallow-tail 
coats — pens  behind  their  ears,  spectacles  on  their 
pates — to  bid  the  young  princess  good-by. 

For  Kate  was  still  "our  Kate,"  in  the  widest  and 
broadest  sense  and  the  pride  and  joy  of  all  who  knew 
her,  and  many  who  didn't.  That  she  had  a  dozen 
beaux — and  that  some  of  them  had  tried  to  bore  holes 
in  each  other  for  love  of  her;  and  that  one  of  them 
was  now  a  wanderer  and  another  in  a  state  of  collapse, 
if  report  were  true — was  quite  as  it  should  be.  Men 
had  died  for  women  a  hundred  times  less  worthy  and 
a  thousand  times  less  beautiful,  and  men  would  die  of 
love  again.  When  at  last  she  made  up  her  mind  she 
would  choose  the  right  man,  and  in  the  meantime  God 
bless  her  for  just  being  alive. 

290 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

And  she  was  never  more  alive  or  more  charming 
than  to-day. 

"  Oh,  how  delightful  of  you,  Mr.  Murdoch,  and 
you  too,  Mr.  Bowdoin — and  Max — and  all  of  you, 
to  cross  those  wretched  stones.  No,  wait,  I'll  come 
to  you — "  she  had  called  out,  when  with  a  stamp 
of  her  little  feet  she  had  shaken  the  pleats  from  her 
skirt — adding  when  they  had  all  kissed  her  hand  in 
turn — "Yes — I  am  going  down  to  be  dairy-maid  at 
Peggy  Coston's,"  at  which  the  bald-headed  old  fel 
lows,  with  their  hands  upraised  in  protest  at  so  great 
a  sacrilege,  bowed  to  the  ground,  their  fingers  on  their 
ruffled  shirt-fronts,  and  the  younger  ones  lifted  their 
furry  hats  and  kept  them  in  the  air  until  she  had  crossed 
the  gang-plank  and  Todd  and  Mammy  Henny, 
and  Ben  who  had  come  to  help,  lost  their  several 
breaths  getting  the  impatient  dogs  and  baggage 
aboard — and  so  she  sailed  away  with  Uncle  George  as 
chaperon,  the  whole  party  throwing  kisses  back  and 
forth. 


291 


CHAPTER  XX 

Their  reception  at  Wesley,  the  ancestral  home  of 
the  Costons,  although  it  was  late  at  night  when  they 
arrived,  was  none  the  less  joyous.  Peggy  was  the  first 
to  welcome  the  invalid,  and  Tom  was  not  far  behind. 

"  Give  her  to  me,  St.  George,"  bubbled  Peggy,  en 
folding  the  girl  in  her  arms.  "You  blessed  thing! 
Oh,  how  glad  I  am  to  get  hold  of  you!  They  told 
me  you  were  ill,  child — not  a  word  of  truth  in  it! 
No,  Mr.  Coston,  you  sha'n't  even  have  one  of  her  little 
fingers  until  I  get  through  loving  her.  What's  your 
mammy's  name — Henny?  Well,  Henny,  you  take 
Miss  Kate's  things  into  her  room — that  one  at  the 
top  of  the  stairs." 

And  then  the  Honorable  Tom  Coston  said  he'd  be 
doggoned  if  he  was  going  to  wait  another  minute,  and 
he  didn't — for  Kate  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks  and 
gave  him  her  father's  message,  congratulating  him 
on  his  appointment  as  judge,  and  thanking  him  in  ad 
vance  for  all  the  kindness  he  would  show  his  daughter. 

But  it  was  not  until  she  awoke  next  morning  and 
looked  out  between  the  posts  of  her  high  bedstead 
through  the  small,  wide-open  window  overlooking  the 
bay  that  her  heart  gave  the  first  bound  of  real  gladness. 
She  loved  the  sky  and  the  dash  of  salt  air,  laden  now 

292 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

with  the  perfume  of  budding  fruit  trees,  that  blew 
straight  in  from  the  sea.  She  loved,  too,  the  stir  and 
sough  of  the  creaking  pines  and  the  cheery  calls  from 
the  barnyard.  Here  she  could  get  her  mind  settled; 
here,  too,  she  could  forget  all  the  little  things  that  had 
bothered  her — there  would  be  no  more  invitations  to  ac 
cept  or  decline;  no  promises  she  must  keep.  She  and 
her  Uncle  George  could  have  one  long  holiday — she 
needed  it  and,  goodness  knows,  he  needed  it  after  all  his 
troubles — and  they  would  begin  as  soon  as  breakfast 
was  over.  And  they  did — the  dogs  plunging  ahead, 
the  two  hand  in  hand,  St.  George,  guide  and  philoso 
pher,  pointing  out  this  and  that  characteristic  feature 
of  the  once  famous  estate  and  dilating  on  its  past 
glory. 

"  Even  in  my  father's  day,"  he  continued,  his  face 
lighting  up,  "it  was  one  of  the  great  show  places  of 
the  county.  The  stables  held  twenty  horses  and  a 
coach,  besides  no  end  of  gigs  and  carryalls.  This 
broad  road  on  which  we  walk  was  lined  with  flower 
beds  and  shaded  by  live-oaks.  Over  there,  near 
that  little  grove,  were  three  great  barns  and  lesser  out 
buildings,  besides  the  negro  quarters,  smoke-houses, 
and  hay-ricks.  Really  a  wonderful  place  in  its  day, 
Kate." 

Then  he  went  on  to  tell  of  how  the  verandas  were 
shaded  with  honeysuckles,  and  the  halls,  drawing- 
rooms,  and  dining-room  crowded  with  furniture;  how 
there  were  yellow  damask  curtains,  and  screens,  and 
hair-cloth  sofas  and  a  harmonicon  of  musical  glasses 

293 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

which  was  played  by  wetting  one's  fingers  in  a  bowl 
of  water  and  passing  them  over  the  rims — he  had 
played  on  it  himself  when  a  boy;  and  slaves  galore — 
nearly  one  hundred  of  them,  not  to  mention  a  thousand 
acres  of  tillable  land  to  plough  and  harrow,  as  well  as 
sheep,  oxen,  pigs,  chickens,  ducks — everything  that 
a  man  of  wealth  and  position  might  have  had  in  the 
old  days,  and  about  every  one  of  which  St.  George  had 
a  memory. 

Then  when  Tom's  father,  who  was  the  sole  heir, 
took  charge  (here  his  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper) 
dissolution  proceedings  set  in — and  Tom  finished 
them!  and  St.  George  sighed  heavily  as  he  pointed  out 
the  changes : — the  quarters  in  ruins,  the  stables  falling 
to  pieces,  the  gates  tied  up  with  strings  or  swinging 
loose;  and  the  flocks,  herds,  and  live-stock  things  of 
the  past.  Nor  had  a  negro  been  left — none  Tom 
really  owned :  one  by  one  they  had  been  sold  or  hired 
out,  or  gone  off  nobody  knew  where,  he  being  too  lazy, 
or  too  indifferent,  or  too  good-natured,  to  hunt  them 
up.  The  house,  as  Kate  had  seen,  was  equally  neg 
lected.  Even  what  remained  of  the  old  furniture  was 
on  its  last  legs — the  curtains  patched,  or  in  shreds — 
the  carpets  worn  into  holes. 

Kate  listened  eagerly,  but  she  did  not  sigh.  It  was 
all  charming  to  her  in  the  soft  spring  sunshine,  the 
air  a  perfume,  the  birds  singing,  the  blossoms  burst 
ing,  the  peach-trees  anthems  of  praise — and  best  of 
all  her  dear  Uncle  George  strolling  at  her  side.  And 
then  everything  was  so  clean  and  fresh  and  sweet  in 

294 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

every  nook  and  corner  of  the  tumble-down  house. 
Peggy,  as  she  soon  discovered,  looked  after  that — in 
fact  Peggy  looked  after  everything  that  required  look 
ing  after — and  everything  did — including  the  judge. 
Mr.  Cos  ton  was  tired,  Peggy  would  say,  or  Mr.  Cos- 
ton  had  not  been  very  well,  so  she  just  did  it  her 
self  instead  of  bothering  him.  Since  his  promotion 
it  was  generally  "the  judge"  who  was  too  tired,  being 
absorbed  in  his  court  duties,  etc.,  etc.  But  it  always 
came  with  a  laugh,  and  it  was  always  genuine,  for  to 
wait  upon  him  and  look  after  him  and  minister  to 
him  was  her  highest  happiness. 

Good  for  nothing  as  he  would  have  been  to  some 
women— unpractical,  lazy — a  man  few  sensible  wives 
would  have  put  up  with — Peggy  adored  him;  and  so 
did  his  children  adore  him,  and  so,  for  that  matter,  did 
his  neighbors,  many  of  whom,  although  they  ridiculed 
him  behind  his  back,  could  never  escape  the  charm 
of  his  personality  whenever  they  sat  beside  his  rocking- 
chair. 

This  chair — the  only  comfortable  chair  in  the  house, 
by  the  way — had,  in  his  less  distinguished  days,  been 
his  throne.  In  it  he  would  sit  all  day  long,  cutting 
and  whittling,  filing  and  polishing  curious  trinkets 
of  tortoise-shell  for  watch-guards  and  tiny  baskets 
made  of  cherry-stones,  cunningly  wrought  and  finished. 
He  was  an  expert,  too,  in  corn-cob  pipes,  which  he 
carved  for  all  his  friends;  and  pin- wheels  for  every 
body's  children.  When  it  came,  however,  to  such 
matters  as  a  missing  hinge  to  the  front  door,  a  brick 

295 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

under  a  tottering  chimney,  the  straightening  of  a  fall 
ing  fence  the  repairing  of  a  loose  lock  on  the  smoke 
house — or  even  the  care  of  the  family  carryall,  which 
despite  its  great  age  and  infirmities  was  often  left  out 
in  the  rain  to  rust  and  ruin — these  things  must,  of 
course,  wait  until  the  overworked  father  of  the  house 
found  time  to  look  after  them. 

The  children  loved  him  the  most.  They  asked  for 
nothing  better  than  to  fix  him  in  his  big  chair  by  the 
fender,  throw  upon  the  fire  a  basket  of  bark  chips 
from  the  wood-yard,  and  enough  pitch-pine  knots  to 
wake  them  up,  and  after  filling  his  pipe  and  lighting 
it,  snuggle  close — every  bend  and  curve  of  the  wide- 
armed  splint-bottomed  comfort  packed  full,  all  wait 
ing  to  hear  him  tell  one  of  his  stories.  Sometimes  it 
was  the  tale  of  the  fish  and  the  cuff-button — how  he 
once  dropped  his  sleeve-link  overboard,  and  how  a 
year  afterward  he  was  in  a  shallop  on  the  Broadwater 
fishing  for  rockfish  when  he  caught  a  splendid  fellow, 
which  when  Aunt  Patience  cleaned — (here  his  voice 
would  drop  to  a  whisper) — "What  do  you  think! — 
why  out  popped  the  sleeve-link  that  was  in  his  cuff 
this  minute!"  And  for  the  hundredth  time  the  bit  of 
gold  would  be  examined  by  each  child  in  turn.  Or 
it  was  the  witch  story — about  the  Yahoo  wild  man 
with  great  horns  and  a  lashing  tail,  who  lived  in  the 
swamp  and  went  howling  and  prowling  about  for 
plunder  and  prey.  (This  was  always  given  with  a 
low,  prolonged  growl,  like  a  dog  in  pain — all  the 
children  shuddering.)  And  then  followed  the  oft- 

296 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

told  tale  of  how  this  same  terrible  Yahoo  once  came 
up  with  Hagar,  who  was  riding  a  witch  pony  to  get 
to  the  witches'  dance  in  the  cane-brake,  and  how 
he  made  off  with  her  to  the  swamp,  where  she  had 
had  to  cook  for  him — ever — ever — ever  since.  (Long- 
drawn  breath,  showing  that  all  was  over  for  that  day 
at  least.) 

Todd  got  the  true  inwardness  of  the  situation  before 
he  had  been  many  days  at  Wesley:  for  the  scene  with 
the  children  was  often  repeated  when  court  was  not 
in  session. 

"Fo'  Gawd,  Marse  George,  hab  you  had  time  to 
watch  dat  gemman,  de  jedge?  Dey  do  say  he's 
sumpin'  great,  but  I  tell  ye  he's  dat  lazy  a  fly  stuck  in 
'lasses  'd  pass  him  on  de  road." 

St.  George  laughed  heartily  in  reply,  but  he  did 
not  reprimand  him. 

"What  makes  you  think  so,  Todd?" 

"Can't  help  thinkin'  so.  I  wuz  standin'  by  de 
po'ch  yisterday  holdin'  Miss  Kate's  mare,  when  I 
yere  de  mistis  ask  de  jedge  ter  go  out  an'  git  'er  some 
kindlin'  f'om  de  wood-pile.  He  sot  a-rockin'  hisse'f 
in  dat  big  cheer  ob  his'n  an'  I  yered  him  say — '  Yes, 
in  a  minute,'  but  he  didn't  move.  Den  she  holler 
ag'in  at  him  an'  still  he  rock  hisse'f,  sayin'  he's  comin'. 
Den,  fust  thing  I  knowed  out  she  come  to  de  wood 
pile  an'  git  it  herse'f,  an'  den  when  she  pass  him  wid 
'er  arms  full  o'  wood  he  look  up  an'  say — 'Peggy, 
come  yere  an'  kiss  me — I  dunno  what  we'd  do  wid- 
out  ye — you'se  de  Lawd's  anointed,  sho'.' ' 

297 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Kate  got  no  end  of  amusement  out  of  him,  and 
would  often  walk  with  him  to  court  that  she  might 
listen  to  his  drolleries — especially  his  queer  views  of 
life — the  simplest  and  most  unaffected  to  which  she 
had  ever  bent  her  ears.  Now  and  then,  as  time  went 
on,  despite  her  good-natured  toleration  of  his  want  of 
independence — he  being  always  dominated  by  his  wife 
— she  chanced,  to  her  great  surprise,  upon  some  nug 
gets  of  hard  common-sense  of  so  high  an  assay  that 
they  might  really  be  graded  as  wisdom — his  analysis 
of  men  and  women  being  particularly  surprising. 
Those  little  twinkling,  and  sometimes  sleepy,  eyes  of 
his,  now  that  she  began  to  study  him  the  closer,  re 
minded  her  of  the  unreadable  eyes  of  an  elephant  she 
had  once  seen — eyes  that  presaged  nothing  but  inertia, 
until  whack  went  the  trunk  and  over  toppled  the  boy 
who  had  teased  him. 

And  with  this  new  discovery  there  developed  at  last 
a  certain  respect  for  the  lazy,  good-natured,  droll  old 
man.  Opinions  which  she  had  heretofore  laughed  at 
suddenly  became  of  value;  criticisms  which  she  had 
passed  over  in  silence  seemed  worthy  of  further  con 
sideration. 

Peggy,  however,  fitted  into  all  the  tender  places  of 
her  heart.  She  had  never  known  her  own  mother; 
all  she  remembered  was  a  face  bending  close  and  a 
soft  hand  that  tucked  in  the  coverlet  one  night  when 
she  couldn't  sleep.  The  memory  had  haunted  her 
from  the  days  of  her  childhood — clear  and  distinct, 
with  every  detail  in  place.  Had  there  been  light 

298 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

enough  in  her  mother's  bed-room,  she  was  sure  she 
could  have  added  the  dear  face  itself  to  her  recollec 
tion.  Plump,  full-bosomed,  rosy-cheeked  Peggy  (fif 
teen  years  younger  than  Tom)  supplied  the  touch 
and  voice,  and  all  the  tenderness  as  well,  that  these 
sad  memories  recalled,  and  all  that  the  motherless 
girl  had  yearned  for. 

And  the  simple,  uneventful  life — one  without  re 
straints  of  any  kind,  greatly  satisfied  her:  so  different 
from  her  own  at  home  with  Prim  as  Chief  Regulator. 
Everybody,  to  her  delight,  did  as  they  pleased,  each 
one  following  the  bent  of  his  or  her  inclination.  St. 
George  was  out  at  daybreak  in  the  duck-blinds,  or, 
breakfast  over,  roaming  the  fields  with  his  dogs,  Todd 
a  close  attendant.  The  judge  would  stroll  over  to 
court  an  hour  or  more  late,  only  to  find  an  equally 
careless  and  contented  group  blocking  up  the  door — 
"  po'  white  trash  "  most  of  them,  each  one  with  a  griev 
ance.  Whenever  St.  George  accompanied  him,  and 
he  often  did,  his  Honor  would  spend  even  less  time  on 
the  bench — cutting  short  both  ends  of  the  session, 
Temple  laughing  himself  sore  over  the  judge's  de 
cisions. 

"  And  he  stole  yo'  shoat  and  never  paid  for  him  ? " 
he  heard  his  honor  say  one  day  in  a  hog  case,  where 
two  farmers  who  had  been  waiting  hours  for  Tom's 
coming  were  plaintiff  and  defendant.  "  How  did  you 
know  it  was  yo'  shoat — did  you  mark  him?" 

"No,  suh." 

"Tie  a  tag  around  his  neck?" 
299 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"No,  suh." 

"  Well,  you  just  keep  yo'  hogs  inside  yo'  lot.  Too 
rrrany  loose  hogs  runnin'  Around.  Case  is  dismissed 
and  co't  is  adjourned  for  the  day,"  which,  while  very 
poor  law,  was  good  common-sense,  stray  hogs  on  the 
public  highway  having  become  a  nuisance. 

With  these  kindly  examples  before  her,  Kate  soon 
fell  into  the  ways  of  the  house.  If  she  did  not  wish  to 
get  up  she  lay  abed  and  Peggy  brought  her  breakfast 
with  her  own  hands.  If,  when  she  did  leave  her  bed, 
she  went  about  in  pussy-slippers  and  a  loose  gown  of 
lace  and  frills  without  her  stays,  Peggy's  only  protest 
was  against  her  wearing  anything  else — so  adorable 
was  she.  When  this  happy,  dreamy  indolence  began 
to  pall  upon  her — and  she  could  not  stand  it  for  long 
— she  would  be  up  at  sunrise  helping  Peggy  wash  and 
dress  her  frolicsome  children  or  get  them  off  to  school, 
and  this  done,  would  assist  in  the  housework — even 
rolling  the  pastry  with  her  own  delicate  palms,  or  sitting 
beside  the  bubbling,  spontaneous  woman,  needle  in 
hand,  aiding  with  the  family  mending — while  Peggy, 
glad  of  the  companionship,  would  sit  with  ears  open, 
her  mind  alert,  probing — probing — trying  to  read  the 
heart  of  the  girl  whom  she  loved  the  better  every  day. 
And  so  there  had  crept  into  Kate's  heart  a  new  peace 
that  was  as  fresh  sap  to  a  dying  plant,  bringing  the 
blossoms  to  her  cheeks  and  the  spring  of  wind-blown 
branches  to  her  step. 

Then  one  fine  morning,  to  the  astonishment  of 
every  one,  and  greatly  to  Todd's  disgust,  no  less  a 

300 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

person  than  Mr.  Langdon  Willits  of  "  Oak  Hill"  (dis^ 
tant  three  miles  away)  dismounted  at  Coston's  front 
porch,  and  throwing  the  reins  to  the  waiting  darky, 
stretched  his  convalescent,  but  still  shaky,  legs  in  the 
direction  of  the  living-room,  there  to  await  the  arrival 
of  "Miss  Seymour  of  Kennedy  Square,"  who,  so  he 
informed  Todd,  "expected  him." 

Todd  scraped  a  foot  respectfully  in  answer,  touched 
his  cocoanut  of  a  head  with  his  monkey  claw  of  a 
finger,  waited  until  the  broad  back  of  the  red-headed 
gentleman  had  been  swallowed  up  by  the  open  door, 
and  then  indulged  in  this  soliloquy: 

"Funny  de  way  dem  bullets  hab  o'  missin'  folks. 
Des  a  leetle  furder  down  an'  dere  wouldn't  'a'  been 
none  oj  dis  yere  foolishness.  Pity  Marse  Harry  hadn't 
practised  some  mo'.  Ef  he  had  ter  do  it  ag'in  I  reckon 
he'd  pink  him  so  he  neber  be  cavortin'  'roun'  like  he 
is  now." 

Willits's  sudden  appearance  filled  St.  George  with 
ill-concealed  anxiety.  He  did  not  believe  in  this  pa 
rade  of  invalidism,  nor  did  he  like  Kate's  encourag 
ing  smile  when  she  met  him — and  there  was  no  ques 
tion  that  she  did  smile — and,  more  portentous  still, 
that  she  enjoyed  it.  Other  things,  too,  she  grew  to 
enjoy,  especially  the  long  rides  in  the  woods  and  over 
to  the  broad  water.  For  Willits's  health  after  a  few 
days  of  the  sunshine  of  Kate's  companionship  had  un 
dergone  so  renovating  a  process  that  the  sorrel  horse 
now  arrived  at  the  porch  almost  every  day,  whereupon 
Kate's  Joan  would  be  led  out,  and  the  smiled-upon 

301 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

gentleman  in  English  riding-boots  and  brown  velvet 
jacket  and  our  gracious  lady  in  Lincoln  green  habit 
with  wide  hat  and  sweeping  plume  would  mount  their 
steeds  and  be  lost  among  the  pines. 

Indeed,  to  be  exact,  half  of  Kate's  time  was  now 
spent  in  the  saddle,  Willits  riding  beside  her.  And 
with  each  day's  outing  a  new  and,  to  St.  George,  a 
more  disturbing  intimacy  appeared  to  be  growing  be 
tween  them.  Now  it  was  Willits's  sister  who  had  to 
be  considered  and  especially  invited  to  Wesley — a  thin 
wisp  of  a  woman  with  tortoise-shell  sidecombs  and 
bunches  of  dry  curls,  who  always  dressed  in  shiny 
black  silk  and  whose  only  ornament  was  her  mother's 
hair  set  in  a  breastpin;  or  it  was  his  father  by  whom 
she  must  sit  when  he  came  over  in  his  gig — a  bluff, 
hearty  man  who  generally  wore  a  red  waistcoat  with 
big  bone  buttons  and  high  boots  with  tassels  in  front. 

This  last  confidential  relation,  when  the  manners 
and  bearing  of  the  elder  man  came  under  his  notice, 
seemed  to  St.  George  the  most  unaccountable  of  all. 
Departures  from  the  established  code  always  jarred 
upon  him,  and  the  gentleman  in  the  red  waistcoat  and 
tasselled  boots  often  wandered  so  far  afield  that  he 
invariably  set  St.  George's  teeth  on  edge.  Although 
he  had  never  met  Kate  before,  he  called  her  by  her 
first  name  after  the  first  ten  minutes  of  their  acquaint 
ance — his  son,  he  explained,  having  done  nothing  but 
sound  her  praises  for  the  past  two  years,  an  excuse 
which  carried  no  weight  in  gentleman  George's  mind 
because  of  its  additional  familiarity.  He  had  never 

302 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

dared,  he  knew,  to  extend  that  familiarity  to  Peggy 
—it  had  always  been  "Mrs.  Coston"  to  her  and  it 
had  always  been  "Mr.  Coston"  to  Tom,  and  it 
was  now  "your  Honor"  or  "judge"  to  the  dispenser 
of  justice.  For  though  the  owner  of  Oak  Hill  lived 
within  a  few  miles  of  the  tumble-down  remnant  that 
sheltered  the  Costons;  and  though  he  had  fifty  ser 
vants  to  their  one,  or  half  a  one — and  broad  acres  in 
proportion,  to  say  nothing  of  flocks  and  herds — St. 
George  had  always  been  aware  that  he  seldom  crossed 
their  porch  steps  or  they  his.  That  little  affair  of 
some  fifty  or  more  years  ago  was  still  remembered, 
and  the  children  of  people  who  did  that  sort  of  thing 
must,  of  course,  pay  the  penalty.  Even  Peggy  never 
failed  to  draw  the  line.  "Very  nice  people,  my  dear," 
he  had  heard  her  say  to  Kate  one  day  when  the  sub 
ject  of  the  younger  man's  family  had  come  up.  "  Mr. 
Willits  senior  is  a  fine,  open-hearted  man,  and  does 
a  great  deal  of  good  in  the  county  with  his  money 
— quite  a  politician,  and  they  do  say  has  a  fair  chance 
of  some  time  being  governor  of  the  State.  But  very 
few  of  us  about  here  would  want  to  marry  into  the 
family,  all  the  same.  Oh  no,  my  dear  Kate,  of  course 
there  was  nothing  against  his  grandmother.  She  was 
a  very  nice  woman,  I  believe,  and  I've  often  heard  my 
own  mother  speak  of  her.  Her  father  came  from 
Albemarle  Sound,  if  I  am  right,  and  was  old  John 
Willits's  overseer.  The  girl  was  his  daughter." 

Kate  had  made  no  answer.     Who  Langdon  Wil- 
lits's  grandmother  was,  or  whether  he  had  any  grand- 

303 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

mother  at  all,  did  not  concern  her  in  the  least.  She 
rather  admired  the  young  Albemarle  Sound  girl  for 
walking  boldly  into  the  Willits  family — low  born  as 
she  was — and  making  them  respect  her. 

But  none  of  Peggy's  outspoken  warnings  nor  any 
of  St.  George's  silent  acceptances  of  the  several  situa 
tions — always  a  mark  of  his  disapproval — checked  the 
game  of  love-making  which  was  going  on — the  give- 
and-take  stage  of  it,  with  the  odds  varying  with  each 
new  shifting  of  the  cards,  both  Peggy  and  St.  George 
growing  the  more  nervous. 

"She's  going  to  accept  him,  St.  George,"  Peggy 
had  said  to  him  one  morning  as  he  stood  behind  her 
chair  while  she  was  shelling  the  peas  for  dinner.  "  I 
didn't  think  so  when  he  first  came,  but  I  believe  it 
now.  I  have  said  all  I  could  to  her.  She  has  cuddled 
up  in  my  arms  and  cried  herself  sick  over  it,  but  she 
won't  hold  out  much  longer.  Young  Rutter  left  her 
heart  all  torn  and  bleeding  and  this  man  has  bound  up 
the  sore  places.  She  will  never  love  anybody  that  way 
again — and  may  be  it  is  just  as  well.  He'd  have  kept 
her  guessing  all  her  life  as  to  what  he'd  do  next.  I 
wish  Willits's  blood  was  better,  for  she's  a  dear,  sweet 
child  and  proud  as  she  can  be,  only  she's  proud  over 
different  things  from  what  I  would  be.  But  you  can 
make  up  your  mind  to  it — she'll  keep  him  dangling 
for  a  while  yet,  as  she  did  last  summer  at  the  Red  Sul 
phur,  but  she'll  be  his  wife  in  a  year  or  less — you  mark 
my  words.  You  haven't  yet  heard  from  the  first  one, 
have  you  ? — as  to  when  he's  coming  home  ?  " 

304 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

St.  George  hadn't  heard — he  sighed  in  return — 
a  habit  of  his  lately:  No,  not  for  two  months  or 
more — not  since  the  letter  in  which  Harry  said  he  had 
left  the  ship  and  had  gone  up  into  the  interior.  He 
had,  he  told  her,  mentioned  the  boy's  silence  to  Kate 
in  a  casual  way,  watching  the  effect  the  news  pro 
duced  upon  her — but  after  the  remark  that  the  mails 
were  always  irregular  from  those  far-away  countries, 
she  had  turned  the  conversation  into  other  channels, 
she  having  caught  sight  of  Willits,  who  had  just  dis 
mounted  from  his  horse. 

As  to  St.  George's  own  position  in  the  affair  he  felt 
that  his  hands  were  still  so  firmly  tied  that  he  could 
do  nothing  one  way  or  the  other.  His  personal  inter 
course  with  Willits  had  been  such  as  he  would  always 
have  with  a  man  with  whom  he  was  on  speaking 
terms,  but  it  never  passed  that  border.  He  was  cour 
teous,  careful  of  his  speech,  and  mindful  of  the  young 
man's  devotion  to  Kate,  whose  guardian  for  the  time 
being  he  was,  but  he  neither  encouraged  nor  thwarted 
his  suit.  Kate  was  of  age  and  was  fully  competent 
to  decide  for  herself — extremely  competent,  for  that 
matter. 

How  little  this  clear  reader  of  women's  hearts — 
and  scores  had  been  spread  out  before  him — knew  of 
Kate's,  no  one  but  the  girl  herself  could  have  told. 
That  she  was  adrift  on  an  open  sea  without  a  rudder, 
and  that  she  had  already  begun  to  lose  confidence  both 
in  her  seamanship  and  in  her  compass,  was  becoming 
more  and  more  apparent  to  her  every  day  she  lived. 

305 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

All  she  knew  positively  was  that  she  had  been  sailing 
before  the  wind  for  some  weeks  past  with  everything 
flying  loose,  and  that  the  time  had  now  come  for  her 
either  to  "go  about"  or  keep  on  her  course. 

Her  suitor's  family  she  had  carefully  considered. 
She  had  also  studied  his  environment  and  the  impres 
sion  he  made  upon  those  who  had  known  him  long 
est: — she  must  now  focus  her  mental  lenses  on  the  man 
himself.  He  had,  she  knew,  graduated  with  honors, 
being  the  valedictorian  of  his  class;  had  risen  rapidly 
in  his  profession,  and,  from  what  her  father  said,  would 
soon  reach  a  high  place  among  his  brother  lawyers. 
There  was  even  talk  of  sending  him  to  the  legis 
lature,  where  her  own  father,  the  Honorable  Prim,  had 
achieved  his  title.  She  wished,  of  course,  that  Mr. 
Willits's  hair  was  not  quite  so  red;  she  wished,  too,  that 
the  knuckles  on  his  hands  were  not  so  large  and  bony 
— and  that  he  was  not  always  at  her  beck  and  call; 
but  these,  she  was  forced  to  admit,  were  trifles  in 
the  make-up  of  a  fine  man.  There  was,  however,  a 
sane  mind  under  the  carrot-colored  hair  and  a  warm 
palm  inside  the  knotted  knuckles,  and  that  was  in 
finitely  more  important  than  little  physical  peculiar 
ities  which  one  would  forget  as  life  went  on.  As  to 
his  periods  of  ill  health,  these  she  herself  could  have 
prevented  had  she  told  him  the  whole  truth  that 
night  on  the  stairs,  or  the  day  before  when  she  had 
parried  his  direct  proposal  of  marriage — a  piece 
of  stupidity  for  which  she  never  failed  to  blame 
herself. 

306 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

His  future  conduct  did  not  trouble  her  in  the  least. 
She  had  long  since  become  convinced  that  Willits 
would  never  again  become  intemperate.  He  had  kept 
his  promise,  and  this  meant  more  to  her  than  his  hav 
ing  given  way  to  past  temptations.  The  lesson  he 
had  learned  at  the  ball  had  had,  too,  its  full  effect. 
One  he  had  never  forgotten.  Over  and  over  again  he 
had  apologized  to  her  for  his  brutal  insolence  in  laying 
his  profane  hands  on  her  dancing-card  and  tearing  it 
to  bits  before  her  eyes.  He  had,  moreover,  deeply 
regretted  the  duel  and  had  sworn  to  her  on  his 
honor  as  a  gentleman  that  he  would  never  fight 
another. 

Each  time  she  had  listened  quietly  and  had  told 
him  how  much  she  was  pleased  and  how  grateful  she 
was  for  his  confidence  and  how  such  fine  resolutions 
redounded  to  his  credit,  and  yet  in  thinking  it  over  the 
next  day  she  could  not  help  comparing  his  meek  out 
bursts  of  sorrow  with  Harry's  blunt  statement  made  to 
her  the  last  time  she  saw  him  in  the  park,  when,  instead 
of  expressing  any  regret  for  having  shot  Willits,  he  had 
boldly  declared  that  he  would  do  it  again  if  any  such 
insult  were  repeated.  And  strange  to  say — and  this 
she  could  not  understand  in  herself — in  all  such  com 
parisons  Harry  came  out  best. 

But: — and  here  she  had  to  hold  on  to  her  rudder 
with  all  her  might — she  had  already  made  one  mis 
take,  tumbling  head  over  heels  in  love  with  a  young 
fellow  who  had  mortified  her  before  the  world  when 
their  engagement  was  less  than  a  few  months  old, 

307 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

making  her  name  and  affections  a  byword,  and  she 
could  not  and  would  not  repeat  the  blunder.  This 
had  shattered  her  customary  self-reliance,  leaving  her 
wellnigh  helpless.  Perhaps  after  all — an  unheard-of 
thing  in  her  experience — she  had  better  seek  advice 
of  some  older  and  wiser  pilot.  Two  heads,  or  even 
three — (here  her  canny  Scotch  blood  asserted  itself) 
— were  better  than  one  in  deciding  so  important  a 
matter  as  the  choosing  of  a  mate  for  life.  And  yet — 
now  she  came  to  think  it  over — it  was  not  so  much  a 
question  of  heads  as  it  was  a  question  of  shoulders  on 
which  the  heads  rested.  To  turn  to  St.  George,  or  to 
any  member  of  the  Willits  kin,  was  impossible. 
Peggy's  views  she  understood.  Counsel,  however,  she 
must  have,  and  at  once. 

Suddenly  an  inspiration  thrilled  her  like  an  electric 
shock — one  that  sent  the  blood  tingling  to  the  very 
roots  of  her  hair.  Why  had  she  not  thought  of  it  be 
fore!  And  it  must  be  in  the  most  casual  way — quite 
as  a  matter  of  general  conversation,  he  doing  all  the 
talking  and  she  doing  all  the  listening,  for  on  no  ac 
count  must  he  suspect  her  purpose. 

Within  the  hour  she  had  tied  the  ribbons  of  her  wide 
leghorn  hat  under  her  dimpled  chin,  picked  up  her 
shawl,  and  started  off  alone,  following  the  lane  to  the 
main  road.  If  the  judge,  by  any  chance,  had  ad 
journed  court  he  would  come  straight  home  and  she 
would  meet  him  on  the  way.  If  he  was  still  engaged 
in  the  dispensation  of  justice,  she  would  wait  for  him 
outside. 

308 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

She  had  judged  wisely.  Indeed  she  might  have 
waited  for  days  for  some  such  moment  and  not  found 
so  favorable  an  opportunity.  His  Honor  had  already 
left  the  bench  and  was  then  slowly  making  his  way 
toward  where  she  stood,  hugging  the  sidewalk  trees  the 
better  to  shade  him  from  the  increasing  heat.  As  the 
day  had  promised  to  be  an  unusually  warm  one,  he 
had  attired  himself  in  a  full  suit  of  yellow  nankeen, 
with  palm-leaf  fan  and  wide  straw  hat — a  combination 
which  so  matched  the  color  and  texture  of  his  placid, 
kindly  face  that  Kate  could  hardly  keep  from  laugh 
ing  outright.  Instead  she  quickened  her  steps  until 
she  stood  beside  him,  her  lovely,  fresh  color  height 
ened  by  her  walk,  her  eyes  sparkling,  her  face  wreathed 
in  smiles. 

"You  are  lookin'  mighty  cute,  my  Lady  Kate,  in 
yo'  Paisley  shawl  and  sarsanet  pelisse,"  he  called  out 
in  his  hearty,  cheery  way.  "Has  Peggy  seen  'em? 
I've  been  tryin'  to  get  her  some  just  like  'em,  only  my 
co't  duties  are  so  pressin'.  Goodness,  gracious  me! — 
but  it's  gettin'  hot!"  Here  he  stopped  and  mopped 
his  face,  then  his  eyes  fell  upon  her  again:  "Bless 
my  soul,  child! — you  do  look  pretty  this  mornin' — jest 
like  yo'  mother!  Where  did  you  get  all  those  pink  and 
white  apple-blossoms  in  yo'  cheeks?" 

"  Do  you  remember  her,  Mr.  Coston  ?"  she  rejoined, 
ignoring  his  compliment. 

"Do  I  remember  her!  The  belle  of  fo'  counties, 
my  dear — eve'ybody  at  her  feet;  five  or  six  gentlemen 
co'tin'  her  at  once;  old  Captain  Barkeley,  cross  as  a 

309 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

bear — wouldn't  let  her  marry  this  one  or  that  one — 
kep'  her  guessin'  night  and  day,  till  one  of  'em  blew 
his  brains  out,  and  then  she  fainted  dead  away. 
Pretty  soon  yo'  father  co'ted  her,  and  bein'  Scotch, 
like  the  old  captain  and  sober  as  an  owl  and  about 
as  cunnin',  it  wasn't  long  befo'  everything  was  settled. 
Very  nice  man,  yo'  father — got  to  have  things  mighty 
particular;  we  young  bucks  used  to  say  he  slept  in 
a  bag  of  lavender  and  powdered  his  cheeks  every 
mornin'  to  make  him  look  fresh,  while  most  of  us 
were  soakin'  wet  in  the  duck-blinds — but  that  was  only 
our  joke.  That's  long  befo'  you  were  born,  child. 
But  yo'  mother  didn't  live  long — they  said  her  heart 
was  broken  'bout  the  other  fellow,  but  there  wasn't 
a  word  of  truth  in  that  foolishness — couldn't  be.  I 
used  to  see  her  and  yo'  father  together  long  after 
that,  and  she  was  mighty  good  to  him,  and  he  was 
to  her.  Yes — all  comes  back  to  me.  Stand  still, 
child,  and  let  me  look  at  you — yes — you're  plumper 
than  yo7  mother  and  a  good  deal  rosier,  and  you 
don't  look  so  slender  and  white  as  she  did,  like 
one  of  those  pale  Indian  pipes  she  used  to  hunt  in 
the  woods.  It's  the  Seymour  in  you  that's  done  that, 
I  reckon." 

Kate  walked  on  in  silence.  It  was  not  the  first 
time  that  some  of  her  mother's  old  friends  had  told  her 
practically  the  same  story — not  so  clearly,  perhaps, 
because  few  had  the  simple,  outspoken  candor  of  the 
old  fellow,  but  enough  to  let  her  know  that  her  father 
was  not  her  mother's  first  love. 

310 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  child,  and  don't  let  anybody 
choose  for  you,"  he  ran  on.  "Peggy  and  I  didn't 
make  any  mistakes — and  don't  you.  Now  this  young 
son  of  Parker  Willits's" — here  his  wrinkled  face  tight 
ened  up  into  a  pucker  as  if  he  had  just  bitten  into  an 
unripe  persimmon — "good  enough  young  man,  may 
be;  goin'  to  be  something  great,  I  reckon — in  Mr. 
Taney's  office,  I  hear,  or  will  be  next  winter.  I 
'spect  he'll  keep  out  of  jail — most  Willitses  do — but 
keep  an  eye  on  him  and  watch  him,  and  watch  yo'self 
too.  That's  more  important  still.  The  cemetery  is 
a  long  ways  off  when  you  marry  the  wrong  man,  child. 
And  that  other  fellow  that  Peggy  tells  me  has  been 
co'tin*  you — Talbot  Rutter's  boy — he's  a  wild  one, 
isn't  he? — drunk  half  the  time  and  fightin'  every 
body  who  don't  agree  with  him.  Come  pretty  nigh 
endin'  young  Willits,  so  they  say.  Now  I  hear  he's  run 
away  to  sea  and  left  all  his  debts  behind.  Talbot 
turned  him  neck  and  heels  out  of  doors  when  he  found 
it  out,  so  they  tell  me — and  served  the  scapegrace  right. 
Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  child.  Right  man  will  come 
bime-by.  Just  the  same  with  Peggy  till  I  come  along 
— there  she  is  now,  bless  her  sweet  heart!  Peggy, 
you  darlin' — I  got  so  lonely  for  you  I  just  had  to  'journ 
co't.  I've  been  telling  Lady  Kate  that  she  mustn't 
be  in  a  hurry  to  get  married  till  she  finds  somebody 
that  will  make  her  as  happy  as  you  and  me."  Here 
the  judge  slipped  his  arm  around  Peggy's  capacious 
waist  and  the  two  crossed  the  pasture  as  the  nearest 
way  to  the  house. 

311 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Kate  kept  on  her  way  alone. 

Her  only  reply  to  the  garrulous  judge  had  been  one 
of  her  rippling  laughs,  but  it  was  the  laughter  of 
bubbles  with  the  sediment  lying  deep  in  the  bottom 
of  the  glass. 


212 


CHAPTER  XXI 

But  all  outings  must  come  to  an  end.  And  so  when 
the  marsh  grass  on  the  lowlands  lay  in  serried  waves 
of  dappled  satin,  and  the  corn  on  the  uplands  was 
waist  high  and  the  roses  a  mob  of  beauty,  Kate  threw 
her  arms  around  Peggy  and  kissed  her  over  and  over 
again,  her  whole  heart  flowing  through  her  lips;  and 
then  the  judge  got  his  good-by  on  his  wrinkled  cheek, 
and  the  children  on  any  clean  spot  which  she  found 
on  their  molasses-covered  faces;  and  then  the  caval 
cade  took  up  its  line  of  march  for  the  boat-landing, 
Willits  going  as  far  as  the  wharf,  where  he  and  Kate 
had  a  long  talk  in  low  tones,  in  which  he  seemed  to 
be  doing  all  the  talking  and  she  all  the  listening — "  But 
nuthin'  mo'n  jes'  a  han'shake"  (so  Todd  told  St. 
George),  "he  lookin'  like  he  wanter  eat  her  up  an' 
she  kinder  sayin'  dat  de  cake  ain't  brown  'nough 
yit  fur  tastin' — but  one  thing  I  know  fo'  sho' — an* 
dat  is  she  didn't  let  'im  kiss  'er.  I  wuz  leadin'  his 
horse  pas'  whar  dey  wuz  standin',  an'  de  sorrel  var 
mint  got  cuttin'  up  an'  I  kep'  him  prancin'  till  Mister 
Willits  couldn't  stay  wid  her  no  longer.  Drat  dat 
red-haided— 

"Stop,  Todd — be  careful — you  mustn't  speak  that 
way  of  Mr.  Willits." 

313 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  Well,  Marse  George,  I  won't — but  I  ain't  neber  like 
him  Tom  de  fust.  He  ain't  quality  an*  he  neber  kin 
be.  How  Miss  Kate  don'  stan'  him  is  mo'n  I  kin  tell." 

Kate  drove  up  to  her  father's  house  in  state,  with 
Ben  as  special  envoy  to  see  that  she  and  her  belong 
ings  were  properly  cared  for.  St.  George  with  Todd 
and  the  four  dogs — six  in  all — arrived,  despite  Kate's 
protestations,  on  foot. 

Pawson  met  him  at  the  door.  He  had  given  up  his 
boarding-house  and  had  transferred  his  traps  and  par 
cels  to  the  floor  above — into  Harry's  old  room,  really 
— in  order  that  the  additional  rent — (he  had  now 
taken  entire  charge  of  Temple's  finances) — might 
help  in  the  payment  of  the  interest  on  the  mortgage. 
He  had  thought  this  all  out  while  St.  George  was  at 
Wesley  and  had  moved  in  without  notifying  him,  that 
being  the  best  way  to  solve  the  problem — St.  George 
still  retaining  his  bedroom  and  dining-room  and  the 
use  of  the  front  door.  Jemima,  too,  had  gone.  She 
wanted,  so  she  had  told  her  master  the  day  he  left 
with  Kate,  to  take  a  holiday  and  visit  some  of  her 
people  who  lived  down  by  the  Marsh  Market  in  an 
old  rookery  near  the  Falls,  and  would  come  back  when 
he  sent  for  her;  but  Todd  had  settled  all  that  the 
morning  of  his  arrival,  the  moment  he  caught  sight 
of  her  black  face. 

"Ain't  no  use  yo'  comin'  back,"  the  darky  blurted 
out.  "  I'm  gwineter  do  de  cookin'  and  de  chamber- 
wo'k.  Dere  ain't  'nough  to  eat  fo'  mo'n  two.  When 

314 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

dem  white-livered,  no-count,  onery  gemmens  dat  stole 
Marse  George's  money  git  in  de  chain-gang,  whar  dey 
b'longs,  den  may  be  we'll  hab  sumpin'  to  go  to  market 
on,  but  dat  ain't  yit;  an*  don't  ye  tell  Marse  George 
I  toP  yer  or  I'll  ha'nt  ye  like  dat  witch  I  done  beared 
'bout  down  to  Wesley — ha'nt  ye  so  ye'll  think  de 
debble's  got  ye."  To  his  master,  his  only  explanation 
was  that  Jemima  had  gone  to  look  after  her  sister, 
who  had  be^n  taken  "wid  a  mis'ry  in  her  back." 

If  St.  George  knew  anything  of  the  common  talk 
going  on  around  him  no  one  was  ever  the  wiser.  He 
continued  the  even  tenor  of  his  life,  visiting  and  re 
ceiving  his  friends,  entertaining  his  friends  in  a  simple 
and  inexpensive  way:  Once  Poe  had  spent  an  evening 
with  him,  when  he  made  a  manly,  straightforward 
apology  for  his  conduct  the  night  of  the  dinner,  and 
on  another  occasion  Mr.  Kennedy  had  made  an  es 
pecial  point  of  missing  a  train  to  Washington  to  have 
an  hour's  chat  with  him.  In  the  afternoons  he  would 
have  a  rubber  of  whist  with  the  archdeacon  who  lived 
across  the  Square — a  broad-minded  ecclesiastic,  who 
believed  in  relaxation,  although,  of  course,  he  was 
never  seen  at  the  club;  or  he  might  drop  into  the 
Chesapeake  for  a  talk  with  Richard  or  sit  beside  him 
in  his  curious  laboratory  at  the  rear  of  his  house  where 
he  worked  out  many  of  the  problems  that  absorbed 
his  mind  and  inspired  his  hopes.  At  night,  however 
late  or  early — whenever  he  reached  home — there  was 
always  a  romp  with  his  dogs.  This  last  he  rarely 
omitted.  The  click  of  the  front-door  latch,  followed 

315 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

by  his  firm  step  overhead,  was  their  signal,  and  up 
they  would  come,  tumbling  over  each  other  in  their 
eagerness  to  reach  his  cheeks — straight  up,  their  paws 
scraping  his  clothes;  then  a  swoop  into  the  dining- 
room,  when  they  would  be  "downed"  to  the  floor,  their 
eyes  following  his  every  movement. 

Nor  had  his  own  financial  situation  begun  as  yet  to 
trouble  him.  Todd  and  Pawson,  however,  had  long 
since  become  nervous.  More  than  once  had  they  put 
their  heads  together  for  some  plan  by  which  sufficient 
money  could  be  raised  for  current  expenses.  In  this 
praiseworthy  effort,  to  Todd's  unbounded  astonish 
ment,  Pawson  had  one  night  developed  a  plan  in 
which  the  greatly  feared  and  much-despised  Gadgem 
was  to  hold  first  place.  Indeed  on  the  very  morning 
succeeding  the  receipt  of  Pawson's  letter  and  at  an 
hour  when  St.  George  would  be  absent  at  the  club, 
there  had  come  a  brisk  rat-a-tat  on  the  front  door 
and  Gadgem  had  sidled  in. 

Todd  had  not  seen  the  collector  since  that  eventful 
morning  when  he  stood  by  ready  to  pick  up  the  pieces 
of  that  gentleman's  dismembered  body  when  his  mas 
ter  was  about  to  throw  him  into  the  street  for  doubt 
ing  his  word,  and  he  now  studied  him  with  the  great 
est  interest.  The  first  thing  that  struck  him  was  the 
collector's  clothes.  As  the  summer  was  approaching 
he  had  changed  his  winter  suit  for  a  combination  of 
brown  linen  bound  with  black — (second  hand,  of 
course,  its  former  owner  having  gone  out  of  mourn 
ing)  and  at  the  moment  sported  a  moth-eaten,  crape- 

316 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

encircled  white  beaver  with  a  floppy,  two-inch  brim,  a 
rusty  black  stock  that  grabbed  him  close  under  the 
chin,  completely  submerging  his  collar,  and  a  pair  of 
congress  gaiters  very  much  run  down  at  the  heel.  He 
was  evidently  master  of  himself  and  the  situation,  for 
he  stood  looking  from  Todd  to  the  young  lawyer,  a 
furtive,  anxious  expression  on  his  face  that  betokened 
both  a  surprise  at  being  sent  for  and  a  curiosity  to 
learn  the  cause,  although  no  word  of  inquiry  passed 
his  lips. 

Pawson's  opening  remark  calmed  the  collector's 
suspicions. 

"  Exactly,"  he  answered  in  a  relieved  tone,  when  the 
plot  had  been  fully  developed,  dragging  a  mate  of  the 
red  bandanna — a  blue  one — from  his  pocket  and 
blowing  his  nose  in  an  impressive  manner.  "  Exactly 
— quite  right — quite  right — difficult  perhaps — enor 
mously  difficult  but — yes — quite  right." 

Then  there  had  followed  a  hurried  consultation,  dur 
ing  which  the  bullet-headed  darky  absorbed  every 
word,  his  eyes  rolling  about  in  his  head,  his  breath 
ending  somewhere  near  his  jugular  vein. 

These  details  duly  agreed  upon,  Gadgem  bowed 
himself  out  of  the  dining-room,  carrying  with  him  a 
note-book  filled  with  such  data  as: 

2  fowling  pieces  made  by  Purdey,  1838. 

3  Iteavy  duck  guns. 
2  English  saddles. 

1  silver  loving  cup. 

2  silver  coasters,  etc,  etc., 

317 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

a  list  which  Todd  the  night  before  had  prompted  and 
which  Pawson,  in  his  clear,  round  hand,  had  trans 
ferred  to  a  sheet  of  foolscap  ready  for  Gadgem  in  the 
morning. 

On  reaching  the  front  door  the  collector  stopped 
and  looked  furtively  up  the  stairs.  He  was  wonder 
ing  with  professional  caution  whether  St.  George  had 
returned  and  was  within  hearing  distance.  If  so  much 
as  a  hint  should  reach  Temple's  ears  the  whole 
scheme  would  come  to  naught.  Still  in  doubt,  he 
called  out  in  his  sharpest  business  voice,  as  if  pro 
longing  a  conversation  which  had  been  carried  on 
inside: 

"Yes,  Mr.  Pawson,  please  say  to  Mr.  Temple  that 
it  is  Gadgem,  of  Gadgem  &  Coombs — and  say  that 
I  will  be  here  at  ten  o'clock  to-morrow — sharp — on  the 
minute;  I  am  a/ways  on  the  minute  in  matters  of 
this  kind.  Only  five  minutes  of  his  time — five  min 
utes,  remember — "  and  he  passed  out  of  hearing. 

Todd,  now  duly  installed  as  co-conspirator,  opened 
the  ball  the  next  morning  at  breakfast.  St.  George 
had  slept  late,  and  the  hands  of  the  marble  clock 
marked  but  a  few  minutes  of  the  hour  of  Gadgem's 
expected  arrival,  and  not  a  moment  could  be  lost. 

"  Dat  Gadgem  man  done  come  yere  yisterday,"  he 
began,  drawing  out  his  master's  chair  with  an  extra 
flourish  to  hide  his  nervousness,  "  an'  he  say  he's  comin' 
ag'in  dis  mornin'  at  ten  o'clock.  Clar  to  goodness  it's 
dat  now!  I  done  forgot  to  tell  ye." 

318 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"What  does  he  want,  Todd?"  asked  St.  George, 
dropping  into  his  seat. 

"  I  dunno,  sah — said  he  was  lookin'  fo'  sumpin'  fo'  a 
frien'  ob  his — I  think  it  was  a  gun — an*  he  wanted  to 
know  what  kind  to  buy  fur  him —  Yes,  sah,  dem 
waffles  's  jes'  off  de  fire.  He  'lowed  he  didn't  know 
nuffin'  'bout  guns — butter,  sah  ? — an'  den  Mister  Paw- 
son  spoke  up  an'  said  he'd  better  ask  you.  He's 
tame  dis  time — leastways  he  'peared  so." 

"A  fine  gun  is  rather  a  difficult  thing  to  get  in  these 
days,  Todd,"  replied  St.  George,  opening  his  napkin. 
"Since  old  Joe  Manton  died  I  don't  know  but  one 
good  maker — and  that's  Purdey,  of  London,  and  he, 
I  hear,  has  orders  to  last  him  five  years.  No,  Todd — 
I'd  rather  have  the  toast." 

"Yes,  sah — I  knowed  ye  couldn't  do  nuffin'  fur 
him —  Take  de  top  piece — dat's  de  brownest — but  he 
seemed  so  cut  up  'bout  it  dat  I  tol'  him  he  might  see 
ye  fur  a  minute  if  he  come  'long  'bout  ten  o'clock,  when 
you  was  fru'  yo'  bre'kfus',  'fo'  ye  got  tangled  up  wid 
yo'  letters  an'  de  papers.  Dat's  him  now,  I  spec's. 
Shall  I  show  him  in?" 

"  Yes,  show  him  in,  Todd.  Gadgem  isn't  a  bad  sort 
of  fellow  after  all.  He  only  wants  his  pound  of  flesh, 
like  the  others,  ,Ah,  good-morning,  Mr.  Gadgem." 
The  front  door  had  been  purposely  left  open,  and 
though  the  bill  collector  had  knocked  by  way  of  warn 
ing,  he  had  paused  for  no  answer  and  was  already  in 
the  room.  The  little  man  laid  his  battered  hat  silently 
on  a  chair  near  the  door,  pulled  down  his  tight  linen 

319 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

sleeves  with  the  funereal  binding,  adjusted  his  high 
black  stock,  and  with  half-creeping,  half-cringing 
movement,  advanced  to  where  St.  George  sat. 

"  I  said  good-morning,  Mr.  Gadgern,"  repeated  St. 
George  in  his  most  captivating  tone  of  voice.  He  had 
been  greatly  amused  at  Gadgem's  antics. 

"I  heard  you,  sir — I  heard  you  distinctly,  sir — I 
was  only  seeking  a  place  on  which  to  rest  my  hat,  sir — 
not  a  very  inspiring  hat — quite  the  contrary — but  all 
I  have.  Yes,  sir — you  are  quite  right — it  is  a  very 
good  morning — a  most  delightful  morning.  I  was 
convinced  of  that  when  I  crossed  the  park,  sir.  The 
trees " 

"Never  mind  the  trees,  Gadgem.  We  will  take 
those  up  later  on.  Tell  me  what  I  can  do  for  you — 
what  do  you  want?" 

"A  gun,,  sir — a  plain,  straightforward  gun — one 
that  can  be  relied  upon.  Not  for  myself,  sir — I  am 
not  murderously  inclined — but  for  a  friend  who  has 
commissioned  me — the  exact  word,  sir — although  the 
percentage  is  small — commissioned  me  to  acquire 
for  him  a  fowling  piece  of  the  pattern,  weight,  and 
build  of  those  belonging  to  St.  George  W.  Temple, 
Esquire,  of  Kennedy  Square — and  so  I  made  bold, 
sir,  to " 

"You  won't  find  it,  Gadgem,"  replied  St.  George, 
buttering  the  toast.  "I  have  two  that  I  have  shot 
with  for  years  that  haven't  their  match  in  the  State. 
Todd,  bring  me  one  of  those  small  bird  guns — there, 
behind  the  door  in  the  rack.  Hand  it  to  Mr.  Gadgem . 

320 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Now,  can  you  see  by  the  shape  of — take  hold  of  it, 
man.     But  do  you  know  anything  about  guns?" 

"Only  enough  to  keep  away  from  their  muzzles, 
sir."  He  had  it  in  his  hand  now — holding  it  by  the 
end  of  the  barrel,  Todd  instinctively  dodging  out  of 
the  way,  although  he  knew  it  was  not  loaded.  "No, 
sir,  I  don't  know  anything — not  the  very  smallest  thing 
about  guns.  There  is  nothing,  in  fact,  I  know  so  lit 
tle  about  as  a  gun — that  is  why  I  have  come  to  you." 

St.  George  recovered  the  piece  and  laid  it  as  gently 
on  the  table  beside  his  plate  as  if  it  had  been  a  newly 
laid  egg. 

"No,  I  don't  think  you  do,"  he  laughed,  "or  you 
wouldn't  hold  it  upside  down.  Now  go  on  and  give 
me  the  rest." 

Gadgem  emitted  a  chuckle — the  nearest  he  ever 
came  to  a  laugh:  "To  have  it  go  on,  sir,  is  infinitely 
preferable  than  to  have  it  go  off,  sir.  He-he!  And 
you  have,  I  believe  you  said,  two  of  these  highly  val 
uable  implements  of  death?" 

"Yes,  five  altogether — two  of  this  kind.  Here, 
Todd  " —  and  he  picked  up  the  gun — "  put  it  back  be 
hind  the  door." 

Gadgem  felt  in  his  inside  pocket,  produced  and 
consulted  a  memorandum  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
wanted  to  be  entirely  sure,  and  in  a  bland  voice  said: 

"  I  should  think  at  your  time  of  life — if  you  will  per 
mit  me,  sir — that  one  less  gun  would  not  seriously 
inconvenience  you.  Would  you  permit  me,  sir,  to 

hope  that " 

321 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

St.  George  looked  up  from  his  plate  and  a  peculiar 
expression  flitted  across  his  face. 

"You  mean  you  want  to  buy  it?" 

The  bill  collector  made  a  little  movement  forward 
and  scrutinized  St.  George's  face  with  the  eye  of 
a  hawk.  For  a  man  of  Temple's  kidney  to  be  with 
out  a  fowling  piece  was  like  a  king  being  without  a 
crown.  This  was  the  crucial  moment.  Gadgem 
knew  Temple's  class,  and  knew  just  how  delicately  he 
must  be  handled.  If  St.  George's  pride,  or  his  love 
for  his  favorite  chattels — things  personal  to  himself — 
should  overcome  him,  the  whole  scheme  would  fall 
to  the  ground.  That  any  gentleman  of  his  standing 
had  ever  seen  the  inside  of  a  pawn-shop  in  his  life 
was  unthinkable.  This  was  what  Gadgem  faced. 
As  for  Todd,  he  had  not  drawn  a  full  breath  since 
Gadgem  opened  his  case. 

"  Not  exactly  buy  it,  sir,"  purred  Gadgem,  twisting 
his  body  into  an  obsequious  spiral.  "Men  of  your 
position  do  not  traffic  in  such  things — but  if  you  would 
be  persuaded,  sir,  for  a  money  consideration  which  you 
would  fix  yourself — say  the  original  cost  of  the  gun — 
to  spare  one  of  your  five — you  would  greatly  delight 
— in  fact,  you  would  overwhelm  with  gratitude — a 
friend  of  mine." 

St.  George  hesitated,  looked  out  of  the  window 
and  a  brand-new  thought  forced  its  way  into  his  mind 
— as  if  a  closet  had  been  suddenly  opened,  revealing  a 
skeleton  he  had  either  forgotten  or  had  put  perma 
nently  out  of  sight.  There  was  need  of  this  "  original 

322 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

cost" — instant  need — something  he  had  entirely  for 
gotten.  Jemima  would  soon  need  it — perhaps  needed 
it  at  that  very  minute.  He  had,  it  was  true,  often 
kept  her  waiting:  but  that  was  when  he  could  pay  at 
his  pleasure;  now,  perhaps,  he  couldn't  pay  at  all. 

"All  right,  Gadgem,"  he  said  slowly,  a  far-away, 
thoughtful  look  on  his  face — "come  to  think  of  it  I 
don't  need  two  guns  of  this  calibre,  and  I  am  quite 
willing  to  let  this  one  go,  if  it  will  oblige  your  friend." 
Here  Todd  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  so  loud  and  deep 
that  his  master  turned  his  head  in  inquiry.  "As  to 
the  price — I'll  look  that  up.  Come  and  see  me  again 
in  a  day  or  two.  Better  take  the  gun  with  you 
now." 

The  fight  had  been  won,  but  the  risk  had  been 
great.  Even  Pawson  could  hardly  believe  his  ears 
when  Gadgem,  five  minutes  later,  related  the  out 
come  of  the  interview. 

"Well,  then,  it  will  be  plain  sailing  so  long  as  the 
rest  of  the  things  last,"  said  Pawson,  handling  the 
piece  with  a  covetous  touch.  He  too  liked  a  day  off 
when  he  could  get  it.  "  Who  will  you  sell  the  gun  to, 
Gadgem?" 

"God  knows — I  don't!  I'll  borrow  the  money  on 
it  somehow — but  I  can't  see  him  suffer — no,  sir — can't 
see  him  suffer.  It's  a  pleasure  to  serve  him — real 
gentleman — real — do  you  hear,  Pawson  ?  No  veneer 
— no  sham — no  lies!  Damn  few  such  men,  I  tell  you. 
Never  met  one  before — never  will  meet  one  again. 
Gave  up  everything  he  had  for  a  rattle-brain  young 

323 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

scamp — beggared  himself  to  pay  his  debts — not  a  drop 
of  the  fellow's  blood  in  his  veins  either — incredible — 
incredible]  Got  to  handle  him  like  gunpowder  or 
he'll  blow  everything  into  matchsticks.  Find  out  the 
price  and  I'll  bring  the  money  to-morrow.  Do  you 
pay  it  to  him;  I  can't.  I'd  feel  too  damn  mean  after 
lying  to  him  the  way  I  have.  Feel  that  way  now. 
Good-day." 

The  same  scene  was  practically  repeated  the  fol 
lowing  month.  It  was  an  English  saddle  this  time, 
St.  George  having  two.  And  it  was  the  same  unknown 
gentleman  who  figured  as  "  the  much-obliged  friend," 
Pawson  conducting  the  negotiations  and  securing  the 
owner's  consent.  On  this  occasion  Gadgem  sold  the 
saddle  outright  to  the  keeper  of  a  livery  stable, 
whose  bills  he  collected,  paying  the  difference  be 
tween  the  asking  and  the  selling  price  out  of  his  own 
pocket. 

Gradually,  however,  St.  George  awoke  to  certain 
unsuspected  features  of  what  was  going  on  around 
him.  The  discovery  was  made  one  morning  when 
the  go-between  was  closeted  in  Pawson's  lower  office, 
Pawson  conducting  the  negotiations  in  St.  George's 
dining-room.  The  young  attorney,  with  Gadgem's 
assistance,  had  staved  off  some  accounts  until  a  legal 
ultimatum  had  been  reached,  and,  having  but  few 
resources  of  his  own  left,  had,  with  Todd's  help,  de 
cided  that  the  silver  loving-cup  presented  to  his  client's 
father  by  the  Marquis  de  Castullux  could  alone  save 
the  situation — a  decision  which  brought  an  emphatic 

324 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

refusal  from  the  owner.  This  and  the  discovery  .of 
Pawson's  and  Gadgem's  treachery  had  greatly  in 
censed  him. 

"And  you  tell  me,  Pawson,  that  that  scoundrel, 
Gadgem,  has — Todd  go  down  and  bring  him  up  here 
immediately — has  had  the  audacity  to  run  a  pawn 
shop  for  my  benefit  without  so  much  as  asking  my 
leave? — peddling  my  things? — lying  to  me  straight 
through  ?  "  Here  the  door  opened  and  Gadgem's  face 
peered  in.  He  had,  as  was  his  custom,  crept  upstairs 
so  as  to  be  within  instant  call  when  wanted. 

"  Yes — I  am  speaking  of  you,  sir.  Come  inside  and 
shut  that  door  behind  you.  You  too,  Todd.  What 
the  devil  do  you  mean,  Gadgem,  by  deceiving  me 
in  this  way?  Don't  you  know  I  would  rather  have 
starved  to  death  than 

Gadgem  raised  his  hand  in  protest: 

''Exactly  so,  sir.  That's  what  we  were  afraid  of, 
sir — such  an  uncomfortable  thing  to  starve  to  death, 
sir — I  couldn't  permit  it,  sir — I'd  rather  walk  my  feet 
off  than  permit  it.  I  did  walk  them  off 

"But  who  asked  you  to  tramp  the  streets  with  my 
things  uuder  your  arm  ?  And  you  lied  to  me  about  it 
-^you  said  you  wanted  to  oblige  a  friend.  There 
wasn't  a  word  of  truth  in  it,  and  you  know  it." 

Again  Gadgem's  hand  went  out  with  a  pleading 
"Please-don't"  gesture.  "Less  than  a  word,  sir — a 
whole  dictionary,  less,  sir,  and  zmabridged  at  that, 
if  I  might  be  permitted  to  say  it.  My  friend  still  has 
the  implement  of  death,  and  not  only  does  he  still 

325 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

possess  it,  but  he  is  enormously  obliged.  Indeed,  I 
have  never  seen  him  so  happy." 

"You  mean  to  tell  me,  Gadgem,"  St.  George  burst 
out,  "that  the  money  you  paid  me  for  the  gun  really 
came  from  a  friend  of  yours  ?  " 

"  I  do,  sir."  Gadgem's  gimlet  eye  was  worming  it 
self  into  Temple's. 

"What's  his  name?" 

"Gadgem,  sir — John  Gadgem,  of  Gadgem  & 
Coombs — Gadgem  sole  survivor,  since  Coombs  is  with 
the  angels;  the  foreclosure  having  taken  place  last 
month:  hence  these  weeds."  And  he  lifted  the  tails 
of  his  black  coat  in  evidence. 

"  Out  of  your  own  money  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir — some  I  had  laid  away." 

St.  George  wheeled  suddenly  and  stood  looking  first 
at  Gadgem,  then  at  Pawson,  and  last  at  Todd,  as  if 
for  confirmation.  Then  a  light  broke  in  upon  him — 
one  that  played  over  his  face  in  uncertain  flashes. 

"And  you  did  this  for  me?"  he  asked  thoughtfully, 
fixing  his  gaze  on  Gadgem. 

"  I  did,  sir,"  came  the  answer  in  a  meek  voice,  as  if 
he  had  been  detected  in  filching  an  apple  from  a  stand; 
"and  I  would  do  it  again — do  it  over  and  over  again. 
And  it  has  been  a  great  pleasure  for  me  to  do  it.  I 
might  say,  sir,  that  it  has  been  a  kind  of  extreme  bliss 
to  do  it." 

"Why?"  There  was  a  tremor  now  in  Temple's 
voice  that  even  Todd  had  never  noticed  before. 

Gadgem  turned  his  head  away.  "I  don't  know, 
326 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

sir,"  he  replied  in  a  lower  tone.  "I  couldn't  explain 
it  on  oath;  I  don't  care  to  explain  it,  sir."  No  lie 
could  serve  him  now — better  make  a  clean  breast  of 
the  villany. 

"  And  you  still  own  the  gun  ? "  Todd  had  never 
seen  his  master  so  gentle  before — not  under  a  provo 
cation  such  as  this. 

"I  do,  sir."     Gadgem's  voice  was  barely  audible. 

"Then  it  means  that  you  have  locked  up  just  that 
much  of  your  own  money  for  a  thing  you  can  never 
use  yourself  and  can't  sell.  Am  I  right?" 

Gadgem  lowered  his  head  and  for  a  moment  studied 
the  carpet.  His  activities,  now  that  the  cat  was  out 
of  the  bag,  were  fair  subjects  for  discussion,  but  not  his 
charities. 

"I  prefer  not  to  answer,  sir,  and — "  the  last  words 
died  in  his  throat. 

"But  it's  true,  isn't  it?"  persisted  St.  George.  He 
had  never  once  taken  his  eyes  from  Gadgem. 

"Yes,  it's  true." 

St.  George  turned  on  his  heel,  walked  to  the  mantel, 
stood  for  an  instant  gazing  into  the  empty  fireplace,  and 
then,  with  that  same  straightening  of  his  shoulders  and 
lift  of  his  head  which  his  friends  knew  so  well  when 
he  was  deeply  stirred,  confronted  the  collector  again: 

"Gadgem!"  He  stopped  and  caught  his  breath. 
For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  something  in  his  throat 
choked  his  utterance.  "Gadgem — give  me  your 
hand  I  Do  you  know  you  are  a  gentleman  and  a 
thoroughbred!  No — don't  speak — don't  explain.  We 

327 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

understand  each  other.  Todd,  bring  three  glasses  and 
band  me  what  is  left  of  the  old  Port.  And  do  you 
join  us,  Pawson." 

Todd,  whose  eyes  had  been  popping  from  his  head 
during  the  entire  interview,  and  who  was  still  amazed 
at  the  outcome,  suddenly  woke  to  the  dangers  of  the 
situation:  on  no  account  must  his  master's  straits  be 
further  revealed.  He  raised  his  hand  as  a  signal  to 
St.  George,  who  was  still  looking  into  Gadgem's  eyes, 
screwed  his  face  into  a  tangle  of  puckers  and  in  a  husky 
whisper  muttered,  so  low  that  only  his  master  could 
hear: 

"Dat  Port,  Marse  George" — one  eye  now  went  en 
tirely  out  in  a  wink — "is  gittin'  a  leetle  mite  low" 
(there  hadn't  been  a  drop  of  it  in  the  house  for  six 
months)  "an'  if " 

"Well,  then,  that  old  Brown  Sherry— get  a  fresh 
bottle,  Todd — "  St.  George  was  quite  honest,  and 
so,  for  that  matter,  was  Todd:  the  Brown  Sherry  had 
also  seen  its  day. 

"  Yes,  sah — but  how  would  dat  fine  ol'  peach  brandy 
de  jedge  gin  ye  do?  It's  sp'ilin'  to  be  tasted,  sah." 
Both  eyes  were  now  in  eclipse  in  the  effort  to  apprise 
his  master  that  with  the  exception  of  some  badly 
corked  Madeira,  Tom  Coston's  peach  brandy  was 
about  the  only  beverage  left  in  the  cellar. 

"  Well,  the  old  peach  brandy,  then — get  it  at  once 
and  serve  it  in  the  large  glasses." 


328 


CHAPTER  XXII 

St.  George  had  now  reached  the  last  stage  of  his 
poverty.  The  selling  or  pawning  of  the  few  valuables 
left  him  had  been  consummated  and  with  the  greatest 
delicacy,  so  as  best  to  spare  his  feelings.  That  he 
had  been  assisted  by  hitherto  unknown  friends  who 
had  sacrificed  their  own  balances  in  his  behalf,  added 
temporarily  to  his  comforts  but  did  not  lessen  the 
gravity  of  the  present  situation.  The  fact  remained 
that  with  the  exception  of  a  few  possible  assets  he  was 
practically  penniless.  Every  old  debt  that  could  be 
collected — and  Gadgem  had  been  a  scourge  and  a 
flaming  sword  as  the  weeks  went  on  in  their  gather 
ing — had  been  rounded  up.  Even  his  minor  interests 
in  two  small  ground  rents  had,  thanks  to  Pawson,  been 
cashed  some  years  in  advance.  His  available  re 
sources  were  now  represented  by  some  guns,  old  books, 
bridles,  another  saddle,  his  rare  Chinese  punch-bowl 
and  its  teakwood  stand,  and  a  few  remaining  odds 
and  ends. 

He  could  hope  for  no  payment  from  the  Patapsco 
— certainly  not  for  some  years;  nor  could  he  raise 
money  even  on  these  hopes,  the  general  opinion  being 
that  despite  the  efforts  of  John  Gorsuch,  Rutter,  and 
Harding  to  punish  the  guilty  and  resuscitate  the  inno- 

329 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

cent,  the  bank  would  finally  collapse  without  a  cent 
being  paid  the  depositors.  As  for  that  old  family 
suit,  it  had  been  in  the  courts  for  forty-odd  years  and 
it  was  likely  to  be  there  forty-odd  years  more  before  a 
penny  would  be  realized  from  the  settlemnet. 

Had  he  been  differently  constructed — he  a  man 
with  scores  and  scores  of  friends,  many  of  whom 
would  gladly  have  helped  him — he  might  have  made 
his  wants  known;  but  such  was  not  his  make-up. 
The  men  to  whom  he  could  apply — men  like  Horn,  the 
archdeacon,  Murdoch,  and  one  or  two  others — had 
no  money  of  their  own  to  spare,  and  as  for  wealthier 
men — men  like  Rutter  and  Harding — starvation  itself 
would  be  preferable  to  an  indebtedness  of  that  kind. 
Then  again,  he  did  not  want  his  poverty  known. 
He  had  defied  Talbot  Rutter,  and  had  practically 
shown  him  the  door  when  the  colonel  doubted  his 
ability  to  pay  Harry's  debts  and  still  live,  and  no  hu 
miliation  would  be  greater  than  to  see  Rutter's  satis 
faction  over  his  abject  surrender.  No — if  the  worst 
came  to  the  worst,  he  would  slip  back  to  Wesley,  where 
he  was  always  welcome  and  take  up  the  practice  of  the 
law,  which  he  had  abandoned  since  his  father's  death, 
and  thus  earn  money  enough  not  to  be  a  burden  to 
Peggy.  In  the  meantime  something  might  turn  up. 
Perhaps  another  of  Gadgem's  thumb-screws  could  be 
fastened  on  some  delinquent  and  thus  extort  a  drop  or 
two;  or  the  bank  might  begin  paying  ten  per  cent.; 
or  another  prepayment  might  be  squeezed  out  of  a 
ground  rent.  If  none  of  these  things  turned  out  to 

330 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

his  advantage,  then  Gadgem  and  Pawson  must  con 
tinue  their  search  for  customers  who  would  have  the 
rare  opportunity  of  purchasing,  direct  "  from  the  pri 
vate  collection  of  a  gentleman,"  etc.,  etc.,  "one  first- 
class  English  saddle,"  etc.,  etc. 

"The  meantime,"  however,  brought  no  relief.  In 
deed  so  acute  had  the  financial  strain  become  that 
another  and  a  greater  sacrifice — one  that  fairly  cut  his 
heart  in  two — faced  him — the  parting  with  his  dogs. 
That  four  mouths  besides  his  own  and  Todd's  were 
too  many  to  feed  had  of  late  become  painfully  evi 
dent  He  might  send  them  to  Wesley,  of  course,  but 
then  he  remembered  that  no  one  at  Tom  Coston's 
ever  had  a  gun  in  their  hands,  and  they  would  only 
be  a  charge  and  a  nuisance  to  Peggy.  Or  he  might 
send  them  up  into  Carroll  County  to  a  farmer  friend, 
but  in  that  case  he  would  have  to  pay  their  keep,  and 
he  needed  the  money  for  those  at  home.  And  so  he 
waited  and  pondered. 

A  coachman  from  across  the  park  solved  the  diffi 
culty  a  day  or  two  later  with  a  whispered  word  in 
Todd's  ear,  which  set  the  boy's  temper  ablaze — for  he 
dearly  loved  the  dogs  himself — until  he  had  talked  it 
over  with  Pawson  and  Gadgem,  and  had  then  broken 
the  news  to  his  master  as  best  he  could. 

"Dem  dogs  is  eatin'  dere  haids  off,"  he  began, 
fidgeting  about  the  table,  brushing  the  crumbs  on  to  a 
tray  only  to  spill  half  of  them  on  the  floor — "an* 
Mister  Floyd's  coachman  done  say  dat  his  young 
marater's  jes'  a-dyin'  for  'em  an*  don't  cyar  what  he 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

pay  for  'em,  dat  is  if  ye —  '  but  St.  George  cut  him 
short. 

"What did  you  say,  Todd?" 

"Why  dat  young  marster  dat's  jes'  come  up  Pom 
Ann'rundel — got  mo'  money  den  he  kin  th'ow  'way  I 
yere." 

"  And  they  are  eating  their  heads  off,  are  they  T — and 
he  wants  to  swap  his  dirty  money  for  my —  Yes — I 
know.  They  think  they  can  buy  anything  with  a 
banknote.  And  its  Floe  and  Dandy  and  Sue  and 
Rupert,  is  it?  And  I'm  to  sell  them — I  who  have 
slept  with  them  and  ate  with  them  and  hugged  them 
a  thousand  times.  Of  course  they  eat  their  heads  off. 
Yes — don't  say  another  word.  Send  them  up  one  at 
a  time— Floe  first!" 

The  scene  that  followed  always  lingered  in  his 
mind.  For  days  thereafter  he  could  not  mention  their 
name,  even  to  Todd,  without  the  tears  springing  to 
his  eyes. 

Up  the  kitchen  flight  they  tumbled — not  one  at  a 
time,  but  all  in  a  scramble,  bounding  straight  at  him, 
slobbering  all  over  his  face  and  hands,  their  paws 
scraping  his  clothes — each  trying  to  climb  into  his 
lap — big  Gordon  setters,  all  four.  He  swept  them  off 
and  ranged  them  in  a  row  before  his  arm-chair  with 
their  noses  flat  to  the  carpet,  their  brown  agate  eyes 
following  his  every  movement. 

"Todd  says  you  eat  too  much,  you  damned  ras 
cals!"  he  cried  in  enforced  gayety,  leaning  forward, 
shaking  his  finger  in  their  faces.  "  What  the  devil  do 

332 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

you  mean,  coming  into  a  gentleman's  private  apart 
ments  and  eating  him  out  of  house  and  home! — and 
that's  what  you're  doing.  I'm  going  to  sell  you! — 
do  you  hear  that? — sell  you  to  some  stingy  curmud 
geon  who'll  starve  you  to  death,  and  that's  what  you 
deserve!  .  .  .  Come  here,  Floe — you  dear  old  doggie, 
you — nice  Floe!  .  .  .  Here,  Dandy — Rupert — Sue!" 
They  were  all  in  his  arms,  their  cold  noses  snuggled 
under  his  warm  chin.  But  this  time  he  didn't  care 
what  they  did  to  his  clothes — nor  what  he  did  to  them. 
He  was  alone;  Todd  had  gone  down  to  the  kitchen 
— only  he  and  the  four  companions  so  dear  to  his 
heart.  "Come  here,  you  imp  of  the  devil,"  he  con 
tinued,  rubbing  Floe's  ears — he  loved  her  best — 
pinching  her  nose  until  her  teeth  showed;  patting 
her  flanks,  crooning  over  her  as  a  woman  would  over 
a  child,  talking  to  himself  all  the  time.  "I  wonder 
if  Floyd  will  be  good  to  them !  If  I  thought  he  wouldn't 
I'd  rather  starve  than —  No — I  reckon  it's  all  right — 
he's  got  plenty  of  room  and  plenty  of  people  to  look 
after  them."  Then  he  rose  from  his  chair  and  drew 
his  hand  across  his  forehead.  "  Got  to  sell  my  dogs, 
eh  ?  Turned  traitor,  have  you,  Mr.  Temple,  and  gone 
back  on  your  best  friends?  By  God!  I  wonder  what 
will  come  next?"  He  strode  across  the  room,  rang 
for  Todd,  and  bending  down  loosened  a  collar  from 
Dandy's  neck,  on  which  his  own  name  was  engraved, 
"St.  George  Wilmot  Temple,  Esquire."  "Esquire, 
eh?"  he  muttered,  reading  the  plate.  "What  a 
damned  lie!  Property  of  a  pauper  living  on  pawn- 

333 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

shops  and  a  bill  collector!  Nice  piece  of  business, 
St.  George — fine  record  for  your  blood  and  breed 
ing!  Ah,  Todd — that  you?  Well,  take  them  down 
stairs  and  send  word  to  Mr.  Floyd's  man  to  call  for 
them  to-night,  and  when  you  come  back  I'll  have  a 
letter  ready  for  you.  Come  here,  you  rascals,  and  let 
me  hug  one  or  two  of  you.  Good  Floe — good  doggie." 
Then  the  long-fought  choke  in  his  throat  strangled 
him.  "Take  them  away,  Todd,"  he  said  in  a  husky 
voice,  straightening  his  shoulders  as  if  the  better  to 
get  his  breath,  and  with  a  deep  indrawn  sigh  walked 
slowly  into  his  bedroom  and  shut  the  door  behind 
him. 

Half  an  hour  later  there  followed  a  short  note,  written 
on  one  of  his  few  remaining  sheets  of  English  paper, 
addressed  to  the  new  owner,  in  which  he  informed 
that  gentleman  that  he  bespoke  for  his  late  compan 
ions  the  same  care  and  attention  which  he  had  always 
given  them  himself,  and  which  they  so  richly  de 
served,  and  which  he  felt  sure  they  would  continue  to 
receive  while  in  the  service  of  his  esteemed  and  hon 
ored  correspondent.  This  he  sealed  in  wax  and 
stamped  with  his  crest;  and  this  was  duly  delivered 
by  Todd — and  so  the  painful  incident  had  come  to 
an  end. 

The  dogs  disposed  of,  there  still  remained  to  him 
another  issue  to  meet — the  wages  he  owed  Jemima. 
Although  she  had  not  allowed  the  subject  to  pass  her 
lips — not  even  to  Todd — St.  George  knew  that  she 
needed  the  money — she  being  a  free  woman  and  her 

334 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

earnings  her  own — not  a  master's.  He  had  twice 
before  determined  to  set  aside  enough  money  from 
former  cash  receipts  to  liquidate  Jemima's  debt — 
once  from  the  proceeds  of  Gadgem's  gun  and  again 
from  what  Floyd  paid  him  for  the  dogs — but  Todd 
had  insisted  with  such  vehemence  that  he  needed  it 
for  the  marketing,  that  he  had  let  it  go  over. 

The  one  remaining  object  of  real  value  was  the 
famous  loving-cup.  With  this  turned  into  money  he 
would  be  able  to  pay  Jemima  in  full.  For  days  he 
debated  the  matter  with  himself,  putting  the  question 
in  a  dozen  different  lights:  it  was  not  really  his  cup, 
but  belonged  to  the  family,  he  being  only  its  custo 
dian;  it  would  reflect  on  his  personal  honor  if  he  traded 
so  distinguished  a  gift — one  marking  the  esteem  in 
which  his  dead  father  had  been  held,  etc.  Then  the 
round,  good-natured  face  and  bent  figure  of  his  old 
stand-by  and  comfort — who  had  worked  for  him  and 
for  his  father  almost  all  her  life — rose  before  him, 
she  bending  over  her  tubs  earning  the  bread  to  keep 
her  alive,  and  with  this  picture  in  his  mind  all  his 
fine-spun  theories  vanished  into  thin  air.  Todd  was 
summoned  and  thus  the  last  connecting  link  between 
the  past  and  present  was  broken  and  the  precious 
heirloom  turned  over  to  Kirk,  the  silversmith,  who 
the  next  day  found  a  purchaser  with  one  of  the 
French  secretaries  in  Washington,  a  descendant  of  the 
marquis. 

With  the  whole  of  the  purchase  money  in  his  hands 
and  his  mind  firmly  made  up  he  rang  for  his  servant: 

335 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  Come  along,  Todd — show  me  where  Aunt  Jemima 
lives — it's  somewhere  down  by  the  market,  I  hear — 
I'm  going  now." 

The  darky's  face  got  as  near  white  as  his  skin  would 
allow:  this  was  the  last  thing  he  had  expected. 

"Dat  ain't  no  fit  place  for  ye,  Marse  George,"  he 
stammered.     "I'll  go  an*  git  her  an'  bring  her  up; 
she  tol'  me  when  I  carried  dat  las'  washin'  down  she 
wuz  a-comin'  dis  week." 

"No,  her  sister  is  sick  and  she  is  needed  where 
she  is.  Get  your  basket  and  come  along — you  can 
do  your  marketing  down  there.  Bring  me  my  hat 
and  cane.  What's  the  matter  with  her  sister,  do  you 
know?" 

Again  the  darky  hedged:  "Dunno,  sah — some 
kin'  o'  mis'ry  in  her  back  I  reckon.  Las'  time  Aunt 
Jemima  was  yere  she  say  de  doctor  'lowed  her  kittens 
was  'fected."  (It  was  another  invalid  limping  past 
the  front  steps  who  had  put  that  in  his  head.) 

St.  George  roared :  "  Well,  whatever  she's  got,  I'm 
going  to  pay  my  respects  to  her;  I've  neglected  Aunt 
Jemima  too  long.  No — my  best  hat — don't  forget 
that  I'm  going  to  call  on  a  very  distinguished  colored 
lady.  Come,  out  with  it.  How  far  does  she  live 
from  the  market?" 

"  Jes'  'bout's  far's  from  yere  to  de  church.  Is  you 
gwine  now?  I  got  a  heap  o'  cleanin'  ter  do — dem 
steps  is  all  gormed  up,  dey's  dat  dirty.  Maybe  we 
better  go  when " 

"Not  another  word  out  of  you!     I'm  going  now." 
336 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

He  could  feel  the  money  in  his  pocket  and  he  could 
not  wait.  "Get  your  basket." 

Todd  led  the  way  and  the  two  crossed  the  park  and 
struck  out  for  the  lower  part  of  the  city,  near  Jones 
Falls,  into  a  district  surrounded  by  one-  and  two-story 
houses  inhabited  by  the  poorer  class  of  whites  and  the 
more  well-to-do  free  negroes.  Here  the  streets,  es 
pecially  those  which  ran  to  the  wharves,  were  narrow 
and  ill-paved,  their  rough  cobbles  being  often  ob 
structed  by  idle  drays,  heavy  anchors,  and  rusting 
anchor-chains,  all  on  free  storage.  Up  one  of  these 
crooked  streets,  screened  from  the  brick  sidewalk  by 
a  measly  wooden  fence,  stood  a  two-story  wooden 
house,  its  front  yard  decorated  with  clothes-lines 
running  criss-cross  from  thumbs  of  fence-posts  to 
fingers  of  shutters — a  sort  of  cat's-cradle  along  whose 
meshes  Aunt  Jemima  hung  her  wet  clothes. 

On  this  particular  day  what  was  left  of  St.  George 
Temple's  wardrobe  and  bed  linen,  with  the  exception 
of  what  that  gentleman  had  on  his  back,  was  either 
waving  in  the  cool  air  of  the  morning  or  being  clothes- 
pinned  so  that  it  might  wave  later  on. 

Todd's  anxious  face  was  the  first  to  thrust  itself 
from  around  the  corner  of  a  sagging,  sloppy  sheet. 
The  two  had  entered  the  gate  in  the  fence  at  the  same 
moment,  but  St.  George  had  been  lost  in  the  maze  of 
dripping  linen. 

"  Go'way  f'om  dar,  you  fool  nigger,  mussin'  up  my 
wash!  Keep  yoj  black  haid  offer  dem  sheets,  I  tell 
ye,  'fo*  I  smack  ye!  An*  ye  needn't  come  down  yere 

337 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

a-sassin'  me  'bout  Marse  George's  clo'es,  'cause  dey 
ain't  done — "  (here  Temple's  head  came  into  view,  his 
face  in  a  broad  smile).  "Well,  fer  de  lan's  sakes, 
Marse  George.  What  ye  come  down  yere  fer? 
Here — lemme  git  dat  basket  outer  yo'  way —  No,  dem 
hands  ain't  fit  fer  nobody  to  shake —  My! — but  Fs 
mighty  glad  ter  see  ye!  Don't  tell  me  ye  come  fer 
dat  wash — I  been  so  pestered  wid  de  weather — nothin' 
don't  dry." 

He  had  dodged  a  wet  sheet  and  had  the  old  woman 
by  the  hand  now,  her  face  in  a  broad  grin  at  sight 
of  him. 

"  No,  aunty — I  came  down  to  pay  you  some  money." 

"You  don't  owe  me  no  money — leastwise  you  don't 
owe  me  nothin'  till  ye  kin  pay  it,"  and  she  darted  an 
annihilating  glance  at  Todd. 

"  Yes,  I  do — but  let  me  see  where  you  live.  What 
a  fine  place — plenty  of  room  except  on  wash-days.  All 
those  mine  ? — I  didn't  know  I  had  that  many  clothes 
left  Pick  up  that  basket,  Todd,  and  bring  it  in  for 
aunty."  The  two  made  their  way  between  the  wet 
linen  and  found  themselves  in  front  of  the  dwelling. 
"And  is  this  all  yours?" 

"  De  fust  flo'  front  an  'back  is  mine  an'  de  top  flo' 
I  rents  out.  Got  a  white  man  in  dere  now  dat  works 
in  de  lumber  yard.  Jes'  come  up  an'  see  how  I  fixed 
it  up." 

"And  tell  me  about  your  sister — is  she  better?"  he 
continued. 

The  old  woman  put  her  arms  akimbo:  "Lawd 
338 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

bre»  ye,  Marse  George! — who  done  tol'  ye  dat  fool 
lie!     I  ain't  got  no  sister — not  yere!" 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  couldn't  come  back  to  me  be 
cause  you  had  to  nurse  some  member  of  your  family 
who  had  kittens,  or  some  such  misery  in  her  spine — 
wasn't  that  it,  Todd  ?  "  said  St.  George  trying  to  con 
ceal  a  smile. 

Todd  shot  a  beseeching  look  at  Jemima  to  confirm 
his  picturesque  yarn,  but  the  old  woman  would  have 
none  of  it. 

"  Dere  ain't  been  nobody  to  tek  care  ob  but  des  me. 
I  come  yere  'cause  I  knowed  ye  didn't  hab  no  money 
to  keep  me,  an'  I  got  back  de  ol'  furniture  what  I  had 
fo'  I  come  to  lib  wid  ye,  an'  went  to  washin',  an'  if 
dat  yaller  skunk's  been  tellin'  any  lies  'bout  me  I'm 
gwineter  wring  his  neck." 

"No,  let  Todd  alone,"  laughed  St.  George,  his  heart 
warming  to  the  old  woman  at  this  further  proof  of  her 
love  for  him.  "The  Lord  has  already  forgiven  him 
that  lie,  and  so  have  I.  And  now  what  have  you  got 
upstairs?" 

They  had  mounted  the  steps  by  this  time  and  St. 
George  was  peering  into  a  clean,  simply  furnished 
room.  "First  rate,  aunty — your  lumber-yard  man 
is  in  luck.  And  now  put  that  in  your  pocket,"  and  he 
handed  her  the  package. 

"What's  dis?" 

"Nearly  half  a  year's  wages." 

"I  ain't  gwineter  take  it,"  she  snapped  back  in  a 
positive  tone. 

339 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

St.  George  laid  his  hand  tenderly  on  the  old  woman's 
shoulder.  She  had  served  him  faithfully  for  many 
years  and  he  was  very  fond  of  her. 

"  Tuck  it  in  your  bosom,  aunty — it  should  have  been 
paid  long  ago." 

She  looked  at  him  shrewdly:  "Did  de  bank  pay 
ye  yit,  Marse  George?" 

"No." 

"  Den  I  ain't  gwineter  tech  it — I  ain't  gwineter  tech 
a  fip  ob  it!"  she  exploded.  "How  I  know  ye  ain't 
a-sufferin'  fer  it!  See  dat  wash? — an'  I  got  anudder 
room  to  rent  if  I'm  min'  ter  scrunch  up  a  leetle  mo'. 
I  kin  git  'long." 

St.  George's  hand  again  tightened  on  her  shoulder. 

"Take  it  when  you  can  get  it,  aunty,"  he  said  in 
a  more  serious  tone,  and  turning  on  his  heel  joined 
Todd  below,  leaving  the  old  woman  in  tears  at  the 
top  of  the  stairs,  the  money  on  her  limp  outspread 
fingers. 

All  the  way  back  to  his  home — they  had  stopped  to 
replenish  the  larder  at  the  market — St.  George  kept 
up  his  spirits.  Absurd  as  it  was — he  a  man  tottering 
on  the  brink  of  dire  poverty — the  situation  from  his 
stand-point  was  far  from  perilous.  He  had  discharged 
the  one  debt  that  had  caused  him  the  most  anxiety — 
the  money  due  the  faithful  old  cook;  he  had  a  basket 
ful  of  good  things — among  them  half  a  dozen  quail 
and  three  diamond-back  terrapin — the  cheapest  food 
in  the  market — and  he  had  funds  left  for  his  immediate 
wants. 

340 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

With  this  feeling  of  contentment  permeating  his 
mind  something  of  the  old  feeling  of  independence, 
with  its  indifference  toward  the  dollar  and  what  it 
meant  and  could  bring  him,  welled  up  in  his  heart. 
For  a  time  at  least  the  spectre  of  debt  lay  hidden. 
A  certain  old-time  happiness  began  to  show  itself  in 
his  face  and  bearing.  So  evident  was  this  that  before 
many  days  had  passed  even  Todd  noticed  the  return 
of  his  old  buoyancy,  and  so  felt  privileged  to  discuss  his 
own  feelings,  now  that  the  secret  of  their  mode  of 
earning  a  common  livelihood  was  no  longer  a  bugbear 
to  his  master. 

"  Dem  taters  what  we  got  outer  de  extry  sterrups  of 
dat  ridin'-saddle  is  mos'  gone,"  he  ventured  one  morn 
ing  at  breakfast,  when  the  remains  of  the  cup  money 
had  reached  a  low  ebb.  "  Shall  I  tote  de  udder  saddle 
down  to  dat  Gadgem  man" — (he  never  called  him  any 
thing  else,  although  of  late  he  had  conceived  a  marked 
respect  for  the  collector) — "  or  shall  I  keep  it  fer  some 
mo'  sugar?" 

"  What  else  is  short,  Todd  ?"  said  St.  George,  good- 
naturedly,  helping  himself  to  another  piece  of  corn 
bread. 

"  Well,  dere's  plenty  ob  dose  decanter  crackers  and 
de  pair  ob  andirons  is  still  holdin'  out  wid  de  mango 
pickles  an'  de  cheese,  but  dat  pair  ob  ridin'-boots  is 
mos'  gone.  We  got  half  barrel  ob  flour  an'  a  bag  o' 
coffee,  ye  'member,  wid  dem  boots.  I  done  seen 
some  smoked  herrin'  in  de  market  yisterday  mawnin' 
'd  go  mighty  good  wid  de  buckwheat  cakes  an' 

341 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

sugar-house  'lasses — only  we  ain't  got  no  'lasses. 
I  was  a-thinkin'  dem  two  ol'  cheers  in  de  garret  'd 
come  in  handy;  ain't  nobody  sot  in  'em  since  I 
been  yere;  de  bottoms  is  outen  one  o'  dem,  but 
de  legs  an'  backs  is  good  'nough  fer  a  quart  o' 
'lasses.  I  kin  take  'em  down  to  de  same  place  dat 
Gadgem  man  tol'  me  to  take  de  big  brass  shovel 
an'  tongs " 

"All  right,  Todd,"  rejoined  St.  George,  highly 
amused  at  the  boy's  economic  resources.  "Anything 
that  Mr.  Gadgem  recommends  I  agree  to.  Yes — take 
him  the  chairs — both  of  them." 

Even  the  men  at  the  club  had  noticed  the  change 
and  congratulated  him  on  his  good  spirits.  None  of 
them  knew  of  his  desperate  straits,  although  many  of 
them  had  remarked  on  the  differences  in  his  hospital 
ity,  while  some  of  the  younger  gallants — men  who 
made  a  study  of  the  height  and  roll  of  the  collars  of 
their  coats  and  the  latest  cut  of  waistcoats — espe 
cially  the  increased  width  of  the  frogs  on  the  lapels — 
had  whispered  to  each  other  that  Temple's  clothes 
certainly  needed  overhauling;  more  particularly  his 
shirts,  which  were  much  the  worse  for  wear:  one 
critic  laying  the  seeming  indifference  to  the  carelessness 
of  a  man  who  was  growing  old;  another  shaking  his 
head  with  the  remark  that  it  was  Poole's  bill  which  was 
growing  old — older  by  a  good  deal  than  the  clothes, 
and  that  it  would  have  to  be  patched  and  darned  with 
one  of  old  George  Brown's  (the  banker's)  scraps 
of  paper  before  the  wearer  could  regain  his  reputa- 

342 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

tion  of  being  the  best-dressed  man  in  or  out  of  the 
club. 

None  of  these  lapses  from  his  former  well-to-do 
estate  made  any  difference,  however,  to  St.  George's 
intimates  when  it  came  to  the  selection  of  important 
guests  for  places  at  table  or  to  assist  in  the  success  of 
some  unusual  function.  Almost  every  one  in  and 
around  Kennedy  Square  had  been  crippled  in  their 
finances  by  the  failure,  not  only  of  the  Patapsco,  but 
by  kindred  institutions,  during  the  preceding  few  years. 
Why,  then,  they  argued,  should  any  one  criticise  such 
economies  as  Temple  was  practising?  He  was  still 
living  in  his  house  with  his  servants — one  or  two  less, 
perhaps — but  still  in  comfort,  and  if  he  did  not  enter 
tain  as  heretofore,  what  of  it?  His  old  love  of  sport, 
as  was  shown  by  his  frequent  visits  to  his  estates  on  the 
Eastern  Shore,  might  account  for  some  of  the  changes 
in  his  hospitable  habits,  there  not  being  money  enough 
to  keep  up  establishments  both  in  country  and  town. 
These  changes,  of  course,  could  only  be  temporary. 
His  properties  on  the  peninsula — (almost  everybody 
had  "properties"  in  those  days,  whether  imaginary  or 
real) — would  come  up  some  day,  and  then  all  would 
be  well  again. 

The  House  of  Seymour  was  particularly  in  the  dark. 
The  Honorable  Prim,  in  his  dense  ignorance,  had  even 
asked  St.  George  to  join  in  one  of  his  commercial  en 
terprises — the  building  of  a  new  clipper  ship — while 
Kate,  who  had  never  waited  five  minutes  in  all  her 
life  for  anything  that  a  dollar  could  buy,  had  begged  a 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

subscription  for  a  charity  she  was  managing,  and  which 
she  received  with  a  kiss  and  a  laugh,  and  without  a 
moment's  hesitation,  from  a  purse  shrinking  steadily 
by  the  hour. 

Only  when  some  idle  jest  or  well-meant  inquiry 
diverted  his  mind  to  the  chain  of  events  leading  up  to 
Harry's  exile  was  his  insistent  cheerfulness  under  his 
fast  accumulating  misfortunes  ever  checked. 

Todd  was  the  cruel  disturber  on  this  particular  day, 
with  a  bit  of  information  which,  by  reason  of  its  source, 
St.  George  judged  must  be  true,  and  which  because 
of  its  import  brought  him  infinite  pain. 

"Purty  soon  we  won't  hab  'nough  spoons  to  stir 
a  toddy  wid,"  Todd  had  begun.  "I  tell  ye,  Marse 
George,  dey  ain't  none  o'  dem  gwine  down  in  dere 
pockets  till  de  constable  gits  'em.  I  jes'  wish  Marse 
Harry  was  yere — he'd  fix  'em.  'Fo'  dey  knowed  whar 
dey  wuz  he'd  hab  'em  full  o'  holes.  Dat  red-haided, 
no-count  gemman  what's  a-makin  up  to  Miss  Kate  is 
gwineter  git  her  fo*  sho " 

It  was  here  that  St.  George  had  raised  his  head,  his 
heart  in  his  mouth. 

"  How  do  you  know,  Todd  ?"  he  asked  in  a  serious 
tone.  He  had  long  since  ceased  correcting  Todd  for 
his  oustpoken  reflections  on  Kate's  suitor  as  a  useless 
expenditure  of  time. 

"  'Cause  Mammy  Henny  done  tol'  Aunt  Jemima 
so — an'  she  purty  nigh  cried  her  eyes  out  when  she 
said  it  Ye  ain't  beared  nothin'  'bout  Marse  Harry 
comin'  home,  is  ye?" 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"No — not  a  word — not  for  many  months,  Todd. 
He's  up  in  the  mountains,  so  his  mother  tells  me." 

Whereupon  Todd  had  gulped  down  an  imprecation 
expressive  of  his  feelings  and  had  gone  about  his  duties, 
while  St.  George  had  buried  himself  in  his  easy-chair, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy,  his  soul  all  the  more  a-hun- 
gered  for  the  boy  he  loved.  He  wondered  where  the 
lad  was — why  he  hadn't  written.  Whether  the  fever 
had  overtaken  him  and  he  laid  up  in  some  filthy  hos 
pital.  Almost  every  week  his  mother  had  either  come 
herself  or  sent  in  for  news,  accompanied  by  messages 
expressing  some  new  phase  of  her  anxiety.  Or  had 
he  grown  and  broadened  out  and  become  big  and 
strong  ? — whom  had  he  met,  and  how  had  they  treated 
him  ? — and  would  he  want  to  leave  home  again  when 
once  he  came  back?  Then,  as  always,  there  came  a 
feeling  of  intense  relief.  He  thanked  God  that  Harry 
ivasn't  at  home;  a  daily  witness  of  the  shrinkage  of  his 
resources  and  the  shifts  to  which  he  was  being  put. 
This  would  be  ten  times  worse  for  him  to  bear  than 
the  loss  of  the  boy's  companionship.  Harry  would 
then  upbraid  him  for  the  sacrifices  he  had  made  for 
him,  as  if  he  would  not  take  every  step  over  again! 
Take  them! — of  course  he  would  take  them! — so  would 
any  other  gentleman.  Not  to  have  come  to  Harry's 
rescue  in  that  the  most  critical  hour  of  his  life,  when 
he  was  disowned  by  his  father,  rejected  by  his  sweet 
heart,  and  hounded  by  creditors,  not  one  of  whom  did 
he  justly  owe,  was  unthinkable,  absolutely  unthink 
able,  and  not  worth  a  moment's  consideration. 

345 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

And  so  he  would  sit  and  muse,  his  head  in  his 
hand,  his  well-rounded  legs  stretched  toward  the  fire, 
his  white,  shapely  fingers  tapping  the  arms  of  his 
chair — each  click  so  many  telegraphic  records  of  the 
workings  of  his  mind. 


346 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

With  the  closing  in  of  the  autumn  and  the  com 
ing  of  the  first  winter  cold,  the  denizens  of  Kennedy 
Square  gave  themselves  over  to  the  season's  enter 
tainments.  Mrs.  Cheston,  as  was  her  usual  custom, 
issued  invitations  for  a  ball — this  one  in  honor  of 
the  officers  who  had  distinguished  themselves  in  the 
Mexican  War.  Major  Clayton,  Bowdoin,  the  Mur 
dochs,  Stirlings,  and  Howards — all  persons  of  the 
highest  quality — inaugurated  a  series  of  chess  tourna 
ments,  the  several  players  and  those  who  came  to 
look  on  to  be  thereafter  comforted  with  such  tooth 
some  solids  as  wild  turkey,  terrapin,  and  olio,  and 
such  delectable  liquids  as  were  stored  in  the  cellars 
of  their  hosts.  Old  Judge  Pancoast,  yielding  to  the 
general  demand,  gave  an  oyster  roast — his  enormous 
kitchen  being  the  place  of  all  others  for  such  a  func 
tion.  On  this  occasion  two  long  wooden  tables  were 
scoured  to  an  unprecedented  whiteness — the  young 
girls  in  white  aprons  and  the  young  men  in  white 
jackets  serving  as  waiters — and  laid  with  wooden 
plates,  and  two  big  wooden  bowls — one  for  the  hot, 
sizzling  shells  just  off  their  bed  of  hickory  coals 
banked  on  the  kitchen  hearth,  and  the  other  for  the 
empty  ones — the  fun  continuing  until  the  wee  sma' 
hours  of  the  morning. 

347 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

The  Honorable  Prim  and  his  charming  daughter, 
not  to  be  outdone  by  their  neighbors,  cleared  the  front 
drawing-room  of  its  heavy  furniture,  covered  every 
inch  of  the  tufted  carpet  with  linen  crash,  and  with 
old  black  Jones  as  fiddler  and  M.  Robinette — a 
French  exile — as  instructor  in  the  cutting  of  pigeon 
wings  and  the  proper  turning  out  of  ankles  and  toes, 
opened  the  first  of  a  series  of  morning  soire'es  for  the 
young  folk  of  the  neighborhood,  to  which  were  in 
vited  not  only  their  mothers,  but  their  black  mammies 
as  well. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richard  Horn,  not  having  any  blithe 
some  daughter,  nor  any  full-grown  son — Oliver  being 
but  a  child  of  six — and  Richard  and  his  charming  wife 
having  long  since  given  up  their  dancing-slippers — 
were  good  enough  to  announce — (and  it  was  astonish 
ing  what  an  excitement  it  raised) — that  "  On  the  Mon 
day  night  following  Mr.  Horn  would  read  aloud,  to 
such  of  his  friends  as  would  do  him  the  honor  of  be 
ing  present,  the  latest  Christmas  story  by  Mr.  Charles 
Dickens,  entitled  'The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth/" 
For  this  occasion  Mr.  Kennedy  had  loaned  him  his 
own  copy,  one  of  the  earliest  bound  volumes,  bearing 
on  its  fly-leaf  an  inscription  in  the  great  master's  own 
handwriting,  in  which  he  thanked  the  distinguished 
author  of  "Swallow  Barn"  for  the  many  kindnesses 
he  had  shown  him  during  his  visit  to  America,  and 
begged  his  indulgence  for  his  third  attempt  to  express 
between  covers  the  sentiment  and  feeling  of  the  Christ 
mas  season. 

348 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Not  that  this  was  an  unusual  form  of  entertain 
ment,  nor  one  that  excited  special  comment.  Almost 
every  neighborhood  had  its  morning  (and  often  its 
evening)  "Readings,"  presided  over  by  some  one 
who  read  well  and  without  fatigue — some  sweet  old 
maid,  perhaps,  who  knew  how  to  grow  old  gracefully. 
At  these  times  a  table  would  be  rolled  into  the  library 
by  the  deferential  servant  of  the  house,  on  which  he 
would  place  the  dear  lady's  spectacles  and  a  book,  its 
ivory  marker  showing  where  the  last  reading  had  ended 
— it  might  be  Prescott's  "  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,"  or 
Irving's  "Granada,"  or  Thackeray's  "Vanity  Fair," 
or  perhaps,  Dickens's  "  Martin  Chuzzlewit." 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  girls  would  begin  to  arrive, 
each  one  bringing  her  needle- work  of  some  kind — 
worsted,  or  embroidery,  or  knitting — something  she 
could  manage  without  discomfort  to  herself  or  any 
body  about  her,  and  when  the  last  young  ladj  was  in 
her  seat,  the  same  noiseless  darky  would  tiptoe  in  and 
take  his  place  behind  the  old  maid's  chair.  Then  he 
would  slip  a  stool  under  her  absurdly  small  slippers 
and  tiptoe  out  again,  shutting  the  door  behind  him 
as  quietly  as  if  he  found  the  dear  lady  asleep — and  so 
the  reading  would  begin. 

A  reading  by  Richard,  however,  was  alwe/s  an 
event  of  unusual  importance,  and  an  invitation  to  be 
present  was  never  declined  whether  received  by  letter 
or  by  word  of  mouth. 

St.  George  had  been  looking  forward  eagerly  to  the 
flight,  and  when  the  shadows  began  to  fall  in  his  now 

349 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

almost  bare  bedroom,  he  sent  for  Todd  to  help  him 
dress. 

"Have  you  got  a  shirt  for  me,  Todd?" 

"Got  seben  ob  'em.  Dey  wants  a  liT  trimmin' 
roun'  de  aidges,  but  I  reckon  we  kin  make  'em  do — 
Aunt  Jemima  sont  'em  home  dis  mawnin'.  She's  been 
a-workin'  on  'em,  she  says.  Looks  ter  me  like  a  goat 
had  a  moufful  outer  dis  yere  sleeve,  but  I  dassent  tell 
'er  so.  Lot  o'  dem  butters  wanderin'  roun'  dat  Marsh 
market  lookin'  fer  sumpin'  to  eat;  lemme  gib  dem 
boots  anudder  tech." 

Todd  skipped  downstairs  with  the  boots  and  St. 
George  continued  dressing;  selecting  his  best  and 
most  becoming  scarf;  pinning  down  the  lapels  of  his 
buff  waistcoat;  scissoring  the  points  of  his  high  collar, 
and  with  Todd's  assistance  working  his  arms  between 
the  slits  in  the  silk  lining  of  the  sleeves  of  his  blue 
cloth,  brass-buttoned  coat,  which  he  finally  pulled 
into  place  across  his  chest. 

And  a  well-dressed  man  he  was  in  spite  of  the  frayed 
edges  of  his  collar  and  shirt  ruffles  and  the  shiny  spots 
in  his  trousers  and  coat  where  the  nap  was  worn 
smooth,  nor  was  there  any  man  of  his  age  who  wore 
his  clothes  as  well,  no  matter  what  their  condition,  or 
one  who  made  so  debonair  an  appearance. 

Pawson  was  of  that  opinion  to-night  when  St.  George, 
his  toilet  complete,  joined  him  at  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs.  Indeed  he  thought  he  had  never  seen  his  client 
look  better — a  discovery  which  sent  a  spasm  of  satis 
faction  through  his  long  body,  for  he  had  a  piece  of 

350 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

important  news  to  tell  him,  and  had  been  trying  all 
day  to  make  up  his  mind  how  best  to  break  it. 

"You  look  younger,  Mr.  Temple,"  he  began, 
"and,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  handsomer,  every 
day.  Your  trip  to  the  Eastern  Shore  last  spring  did 
you  no  end  of  good/*  and  the  young  attorney  crooked 
his  long  neck  and  elevated  his  eyebrows  and  the  cor 
ners  of  his  mouth  in  the  effort  to  give  to  his  sinuous 
body  a  semblance  of  mirth. 

"Thank  you,  Pawson,"  bowed  St.  George,  gra 
ciously.  "You  are  really  most  kind,  but  that  is  be 
cause  you  are  stone  blind.  My  shirt  is  full  of  holes, 
and  it  is  quite  likely  I  shall  have  to  stand  all  the  eve 
ning  for  fear  of  splitting  the  knees  of  my  breeches. 
Come — out  with  it" — he  laughed — "  there  is  something 
you  have  to  tell  me  or  you  would  not  be  waiting  for 
me  here  at  this  hour  in  the  cold  hall." 

Pawson  smiled  faintly,  then  his  eyebrows  lost  their 
identity  in  some  well-defined  wrinkles  in  his  fore 
head. 

"  I  have,  sir,  a  most  unpleasant  thing  to  tell  you — 
a  very  unpleasant  thing.  When  I  tried  this  morning 
for  a  few  days'  grace  on  that  last  overdue  payment, 
the  agent  informed  me,  to  my  great  surprise,  that  Mr. 
John  Gorsuch  had  bought  the  mortgage  and  would 
thereafter  collect  the  interest  in  person.  I  am  not 
sure,  of  course,  but  I  am  afraid  Colonel  Rutter  is  be 
hind  the  purchase.  If  he  is  we  must  be  prepared  to 
face  the  worst  should  he  still  feel  toward  you  as  he  did 
when  you  and  he" — and  he  jerked  his  thumb  mean- 

351 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

ingly  in  the  direction  of  the  dining-room — "  had  it  out 
—in  there/' 

St.  George  compressed  his  lips.  "And  so  Rutter 
holds  the  big  end  of  the  whip  after  all,  does  he  ? "  he 
exclaimed  with  some  heat.  "  He  will  find  the  skin  on 
my  back  not  a  very  valuable  asset,  but  he  is  welcome 
to  it.  He  has  about  everything  else." 

"But  I'd  rather  pay  it  somehow  if  we  could/'  re 
joined  Pawson  in  a  furtive  way — as  if  he  had  some 
thing  up  his  sleeve  he  dare  not  spring  upon  him. 

"Yes — of  course  you  would/'  retorted  St.  George 
with  a  cynical  laugh,  slipping  on  his  gloves.  "  Pay  it  ? 
— of  course  pay  it.  Pay  everything  and  everybody! 
What  do  you  think  I'd  bring  at  auction,  Pawson? 
I'm  white,  you  know,  and  so  I  can't  be  sold  on  the 
block — but  the  doctors  might  offer  you  a  trifle  for 
cutting-up  purposes.  Bah !  Hand  me  my  coat,  Todd." 

A  deprecatory  smile  flitted  across  the  long,  thin 
face  of  the  attorney.  He  saw  that  St.  George  was  in 
no  mood  for  serious  things,  and  yet  something  must 
be  done;  certainly  before  the  arrival  of  Gorsuch  him 
self,  who  was  known  to  be  an  exact  man  of  business 
and  who  would  have  his  rights,  no  matter  who  suffered. 

"  I  had  a  little  plan,  sir — but  you  might  not  fall  in 
with  it.  It  would,  perhaps,  be  only  temporary,  but 
it  is  all  I  can  think  of.  I  had  an  applicant  this  morn 
ing — in  fact  it  came  within  an  hour  after  I  had  heard 
the  news.  It  seemed  almost  providential,  sir/' 

St.  George  was  facing  the  door,  ready  to  leave  the 
house,  his  shoulders  still  bent  forward  so  that  Todd 

352 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

could  adjust  his  heavy  cloak  the  better,  when  for  the 
first  time  the  anxious  tone  in  Pawson's  voice  caught 
his  attention.  As  the  words  fell  from  the  attorney's 
lips  he  straightened,  and  Todd  stepped  back,  the 
garment  still  in  the  darky's  hands. 

"An  applicant  for  what?"  he  inquired  in  a  graver 
tone.  He  was  not  surprised — nothing  surprised  him 
in  these  days — he  was  only  curious. 

"For  the  rooms  you  occupy.  I  cari  get  enough 
for  them,  sir,  not  only  to  clear  up  the  back  interest, 
but  to  keep  the  mortgage  alive  and ' 

St.  George's  face  paled  as  the  full  meaning  of 
Pawson's  proposal  dawned  in  his  mind.  That  was 
the  last  thing  he  had  expected. 

"  Turn  me  into  the  street,  eh  ?  "  There  was  a  note 
of  pained  surprise  in  his  voice. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  put  it  that  way,  sir."  His 
heart  really  bled  for  him — it  was  all  he  could  do  to 
control  himself. 

"  How  the  devil  else  can  I  put  it  ?  " 

"Well,  I  thought  you  might  want  to  do  a  little 
shooting,  sir." 

"Shooting!  What  with  ?  One  of  Gadgem's  guns  ? 
Hire  it  of  him,  eh,  and  steal  the  powder  and  shot!" 
he  cried  savagely. 

"Yes — if  you  saw  fit,  sir.  Gadgem,  I  am  sure, 
would  be  most  willing,  and  you  can  always  get  plenty 
of  ammunition.  Anyway,  you  might  pass  a  few  months 
with  your  kinsfolk  on  the  Eastern  Shore,  whether  you 
hunted  or  not;  it  did  you  so  much  good  before.  The 

353 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

winter  here  is  always  wearing,  sloppy  and  wet.  I've 
heard  you  say  so  repeatedly."  He  had  not  taken  his 
eyes  from  his  face;  he  knew  this  was  St.  George's 
final  stage,  and  he  knew  too  that  he  would  never  again 
enter  the  home  he  loved;  but  this  last  he  could  not  tell 
him  outright.  He  would  rather  have  cut  his  right 
hand  off  than  tell  him  at  all.  Being  even  the  humblest 
instrument  in  the  exiling  of  a  man  like  St.  George  Wil- 
mot  Temple  was  in  itself  a  torture. 

"And  when  do  you  want  me  to  quit?"  he  said 
calmly.  "I  suppose  I  can  evacuate  like  an  officer 
and  a  gentleman  and  carry  my  side-arms  with  me — 
my  father's  cane,  for  instance,  that  I  can  neither  sell 
nor  pawn,  and  a  case  of  razors  which  are  past  sharp 
ening?"  and  his  smile  broadened  as  the  humor  of  the 
thing  stole  over  him. 

"  Well,  sir,  it  ought  to  be  done,"  continued  Pawson 
in  his  most  serious  tone,  ignoring  the  sacrifice — (there 
was  nothing  funny  in  the  situation  to  the  attorney) — 
"well — I  should  say — right  away.  To-morrow,  per 
haps.  This  news  of  Gorsuch  has  come  very  sudden, 
you  know.  If  I  can  show  him  that  the  new  tenant 
has  moved  in  already  he  might  wait  until  his  first 
month's  rent  was  paid.  You  see  that J 

"'Oh,  yes,  Pawson,  I  see — see  it  all  clear  as  day," 
interrupted  St.  George — "have  been  seeing  it  for  some 
months  past,  although  neither  you  nor  Gadgem 
seem  to  have  been  aware  of  that  fact."  This  came 
with  so  grave  a  tone  that  Pawson  raised  his  eyes  in 
quiringly.  "And  who  is  this  man,"  Temple  went 

354 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

on,  "  who  wants  to  step  into  my  shoes  ?  Be  sure  you 
tell  him  they  are  half-soled,"  and  he  held  up  one 
boot.  He  might  want  to  dance  or  hunt  in  them — and 
his  toes  would  be  out  the  first  thing  he  knew." 

"  He  is  Mr.  Gorsuch's  attorney,  sir,  a  Mr.  Fogbin," 
Pawson  answered,  omitting  any  reference  to  the  boots 
and  still  concerned  over  the  gravity  of  the  situation. 
"  He  did  some  work  once  for  Colonel  Rutter,  and  that's 
how  Gorsuch  got  hold  of  him.  That's  why  I  suspect 
the  colonel.  This  would  make  the  interest  sure,  you 
see — rather  a  sly  game,  is  it  not,  sir?  One  I  did  not 
expect. " 

St.  George  pondered  for  a  moment,  and  his  eye 
fell  on  his  servant. 

"And  what  will  I  do  with  Todd?" 

The  darky's  eyes  had  been  rolling  round  in  his  head 
as  the  talk  continued,  Pawson,  knowing  how  leaky 
he  was,  having  told  him  nothing  of  the  impending 
calamity  for  fear  he  would  break  it  to  his  master  in 
the  wrong  way. 

"I  should  say  take  him  with  you,"  came  the  posi 
tive  answer. 

"Take  him  with  me!  You  didn't  think  I  would  be 
separated  from  him,  did  you?"  cried  St.  George,  in 
dignantly,  the  first  note  of  positive  anger  he  had  yet 
shown. 

"I  didn't  think  anything  about  it,  sir,"  and  he 
looked  at  Todd  apologetically. 

"Well,  after  this  please  remember,  Mr.  Pawson, 
that  where  I  go  Todd  goes." 

355 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

The  darky  leaned  forward  as  if  to  seize  St.  George's 
hand;  his  eyes  filled  and  his  lips  began  to  tremble. 
He  would  rather  have  died  than  have  left  his  master. 

St.  George  walked  to  the  door,  threw  it  open,  and 
stood  for  an  instant,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  bare  trees 
in  the  park.  He  turned  and  faced  the  two  again : 

"Todd!" 

"Yes,  Marse  George—  Two  hot  ragged  tears 
still  lingered  on  the  darky's  eyelids. 

"To-day  is  Monday,  is  it  not? — and  to-morrow  is 
boat  day?" 

"  Yes,  Marse  George,"  came  the  trembling  answer. 

"All  right,  Pawson,  I'll  go.  Let  Talbot  Rutter 
have  the  rest — he's  welcome  to  it.  Now  for  my  cloak, 
Todd — so — and  my  neckerchief  and  cane.  Thank 
you  very  much,  Pawson.  You  have  been  very  kind 
about  it  all,  and  I  know  quite  well  what  it  has  cost 
you  to  tell  me  this.  You  can't  help — neither  can  I — 
neither,  for  that  matter,  can  Gorsuch — nor  is  it  his 
fault.  It  is  Rutter's,  and  he  will  one  day  get  his  reck 
oning.  Good-night — don't  sit  up  too  late.  I  am  go 
ing  to  Mr.  Horn's  to  spend  the  evening.  Walk  along 
with  me  through  the  Park,  Todd,  so  I  can  talk  to 
you.  And,  Todd/'  he  continued  when  they  had  en 
tered  the  path  and  were  bending  their  steps  to  the 
Horn  house,  "I  want  you  to  gather  together  to-mor 
row  what  are  left  of  my  clothes  and  pack  them  in  one 
of  those  hair  trunks  upstairs — and  your  own  things  in 
another.  Never  mind  about  waiting  for  the  wash. 
I'm  going  down  to  Aunt  Jemima's  myself  in  the  morn- 

356 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

ing  and  will  fix  it  so  she  can  send  the  rest  to  me  later 
on.  I  owe  her  a  small  balance  and  must  see  her  once 
more  before  I  leave.  Now  go  home  and  get  to  bed; 
you  have  been  losing  too  much  sleep  of  late." 

And  yet  he  was  not  cast  down,  nor  did  his  courage 
fail  him.  Long  before  the  darky's  obedient  figure  had 
disappeared  his  natural  buoyancy  had  again  asserted 
itself — or  perhaps  the  philosophy  which  always  sus 
tains  a  true  gentleman  in  his  hour  of  need  had  come 
to  his  assistance.  He  fully  realized  what  this  last 
cowardly  blow  meant.  One  after  another  his  sev 
eral  belongings  had  vanished:  his  priceless  family 
heirlooms;  his  dogs;  and  now  the  home  of  his  an 
cestors.  He  was  even  denied  further  shelter  within 
its  walls.  But  there  were  no  regrets;  his  conscience 
still  sustained  him;  he  would  live  it  all  over  again. 
In  his  determination  to  keep  to  his  standards  he  had 
tried  to  stop  a  freshet  with  a  shovelful  of  clay;  that  was 
all.  It  was  a  foolhardy  attempt,  no  doubt,  but  he 
would  have  been  heartily  ashamed  of  himself  if  he 
had  not  made  the  effort.  Wesley,  of  course,  was  not 
a  very  exciting  place  in  which  to  spend  the  winter, 
but  it  was  better  than  being  under  obligations  to 
Talbot  Rutter;  and  then  he  could  doubtless  earn 
enough  at  the  law  to  pay  his  board — at  least  he 
would  try. 

He  had  reached  the  end  of  the  walk  and  had  already 
caught  the  glow  of  the  overhead  lantern  in  the  hall  of 
the  Horn  mansion  lighting  up  the  varied  costumes  of 
the  guests  as  Malachi  swung  back  the  front  door, 

357 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

revealing  the  girls  in  their  pink  and  white  nubias,  the 
gallants  in  long  cloaks  with  scarlet  linings,  the  older 
men  in  mufflers,  and  the  mothers  and  grandmothers 
in  silk  hoods.  There  was  no  question  of  Richard's 
popularity. 

"Clar  to  goodness,  Marse  George,  you  is  a  sight 
for  sore  eyes,"  cried  Malachi,  unhooking  the  clasp  of 
the  velvet  collar  and  helping  him  off  with  his  cloak. 
"I  ain't  never  seen  ye  looking  spryerl  Yes,  sah, 
Marse  Richard's  inside  and  he'll  he  mighty  glad  ye 
come.  Yes — jedge — jes's  soon  as  I —  Dat's  it,  mistis 
— I'll  take  dat  shawl —  No,  sah,  Marse  Richard  ain't 
begun  yit.  Dis  way,  ladies,"  and  so  it  had  gone  on 
since  the  opening  rat-a-tat-tat  on  the  old  brass  knocker 
had  announced  the  arrival  of  the  first  guest. 

Nor  was  there  any  question  that  everybody  who 
could  by  any  possibility  have  availed  themselves  of 
Richard's  invitation  had  put  in  an  appearance.  Most 
of  the  men  from  the  club  known  to  these  pages  were 
present,  together  with  their  wives  and  children — those 
who  were  old  enough  to  sit  up  late;  and  Nathan  Gill, 
without  his  flute  this  time,  but  with  ears  wide  open — 
he  was  beginning  to  get  gray,  was  Nathan,  although 
he  wouldn't  admit  it;  and  Miss  Virginia  Clendenning 
in  high  waist  and  voluminous  skirts,  fluffy  side  curls,, 
and  a  new  gold  chain  for  her  eyeglasses — gold  rims,  too, 
of  course — not  to  mention  the  Murdochs,  Stirlings,  Gat- 
chells,  Captain  Warfield  and  his  daughter,  Bowdoin, 
and  Purviance.  They  were  all  there;  everybody,  in 
fact,  who  could  squeeze  inside  the  drawing-room; 

358 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

ivhile  those  who  couldn't  filled  the  hall  and  even  the 
stairs — wherever  Richard's  voice  could  be  heard. 

St.  George  edged  into  the  packed  room,  swept  his 
glance  over  the  throng,  and  made  his  way  through  the 
laughing  groups,  greeting  every  one  right  and  left, 
old  and  young,  as  he  moved — a  kiss  here  on  the  up 
turned  cheek  of  some  pretty  girl  whom  he  had  carried 
in  his  arms  when  a  baby;  a  caressing  pat  of  approba 
tion  on  some  young  gallant's  shoulder;  a  bend  of  the 
head  in  respectful  homage  to  those  he  knew  but  slightly 
— the  Baroness  de  Trobiand,  Mrs.  Cheston's  friend, 
being  one  of  them;  a  hearty  hand  held  out  to  the  men 
who  had  been  away  for  the  summer — interrupted  now 
and  then  by  some  such  sally  from  a  young  bride  as — 
"Oh,  you  mean  Uncle  George!  No — I'm  not  going 
to  love  you  any  more!  You  promised  you  would  come 
to  my  party  and  you  didn't,  and  my  cotillon  was  all 
spoiled!"  or  a — "Why,  Temple,  you  dear  man! — I'm 
so  glad  to  see  you!  Don't  forget  my  dinner  on  Thurs 
day.  The  Secretary  is  coming  and  I  want  you  to  sit 
between  him  and  Lord  Atherton" — a  sort  of  trium 
phal  procession,  really — until  he  reached  the  end  of 
the  room  and  stood  at  Kate's  side. 

"Well,  sweetheart!"  he  cried  gayly,  caressing  her 
soft  hand  before  his  fingers  closed  over  it.  Then  his 
face  hardened.  "Ah,  Mr.  Willits!  So  you,  too,  must 
come  under  the  spell  of  Mr.  Horn's  voice,"  and  with 
out  waiting  for  a  reply  continued  as  if  nothing  had 
interrupted  the  joy  of  his  greeting.  "  You  should  sit 
down  somewhere,  my  dear  Kate — get  as  near  to  Rich- 

359 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

ard  as  you  can,  so  you  can  watch  his  face — that's 
the  best  part  of  it.  And  I  should  advise  you,  too,  Mr. 
Willits,  to  miss  none  of  his  words — it  will  be  some 
thing  you  will  remember  all  your  life." 
i  Kate  looked  up  in  his  face  with  a  satisfied  smile. 
She  was  more  than  glad  that  her  Uncle  George  was  so 
gracious  to  her  escort,  especially  to-night  when  he  was 
to  meet  a  good  many  people  for  the  first  time. 

"  I'll  take  the  stool,  then,  dear  Uncle  George,"  she 
answered  with  a  merry  laugh.  "Go  get  it,  please, 
Mr.  Willits — the  one  under  the  sofa."  Then,  with  a 
toss  of  her  head  and  a  coquettish  smile  at  St.  George: 
'"What  a  gadabout  you  are;  do  you  know  I've  been 
three  times  to  see  you,  and  not  a  soul  in  your  house  and 
the  front  door  wide  open,  and  everything  done  up  in 
curl  papers  as  if  you  were  going  to  move  away  for 
good  and  all  and  never  coming  back?  And  do  you 
know  that  you  haven't  been  near  me  for  a  whole  week  ? 
What  do  you  mean  by  breaking  my  heart?  Thank 
you,  Mr.  Willits;  put  the  stool  right  here,  so  I  can  look 
up  into  Mr.  Horn's  eyes  as  Uncle  George  wants  me  to. 
I've  known  the  time,  sir" — and  she  arched  her  brows 
at  St.  George — "when  you  would  be  delighted  to  have 
me  look  my  prettiest  at  you,  but  now  before  I  am  half 
way  across  the  park  you  slip  out  of  the  basement  door 
to  avoid  me  and —  No! — no — no  apologies — you  are 
just  tired  of  me!" 

St.  George  laughed  gayly  in  return,  his  palms  flat 
tened  against  each  other  and  held  out  in  supplication; 
but  he  made  no  defence.  He  was  studying  the  couple, 

360 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

his  mind  on  the  bearing  and  manner  of  the  young 
man  toward  the  woman  he  was  pursuing  so  relent 
lessly.  He  saw  that  he  had  completely  regained  his 
health,  his  clear  eyes  and  ruddy  skin  and  the  spring 
with  which  he  moved  denoting  a  man  in  perfect 
physical  condition.  He  discovered,  too,  that  he  was 
extremely  well  dressed  and  his  costume  all  that  it 
should  be — especially  the  plum-colored  coat,  which 
fitted  his  shoulders  to  perfection;  his  linen  of  the 
whitest  and  finest,  each  ruffle  in  flutes;  the  waist 
coat  embroidered  in  silk;  the  pumps  of  the  proper 
shape  and  the  stockings  all  that  could  be  desired — 
except  perhaps — and  a  grim  smile  crossed  his  face — 
that  the  silk  scarf  was  a  shade  out  of  key  with  the  pre 
vailing-  color  of  his  make-up,  particularly  his  hair; 
but,  then,  that  was  to  be  expected  of  a  man  who  had 
a  slight  flaw  in  his  ancestry.  He  wondered  if  she  had 
noticed  it  and  studied  her  face  for  an  answer.  No! 
She  had  not  noticed  it.  In  fact  there  were  very  many 
things  she  was  overlooking  in  these  last  days  of  his 
wooing,  he  thought  to  himself. 

Suddenly  he  became  occupied  with  Kate's  beauty. 
He  thought  he  had  never  seen  her  so  bewitching  or  in 
such  good  spirits.  From  his  six  feet  and  an  inch  of 
vantage  his  eyes  followed  her  sloping  shoulders  and 
tapering  arms  and  rested  on  her  laughing,  happy  face 
— rose-colored  in  the  soft  light  of  the  candles — a  film 
of  lace  looped  at  her  elbows,  her  wonderful  hair  caught 
in  a  coil  at  the  back:  not  the  prevailing  fashion  but 
one  most  becoming  to  her.  What  had  not  this  ad- 

361 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

mixture  of  Scotch  and  Virginia  blood — this  intermin 
gling  of  robust  independence  with  the  gentle,  yielding 
feminine  qualities  of  the  Southern-born  woman — done 
for  this  girl? 

Richard  clapped  his  hands  to  attract  attention,  and 
advancing  a  step  in  front  of  the  big  easy-chair  which 
Malachi  had  just  pulled  out  for  him,  raised  his  fingers 
to  command  silence. 

All  eyes  were  instantly  turned  his  way.  Alert  and 
magnetic,  dignified  and  charming,  he  stood  in  the  full 
glow  of  the  overhead  chandelier,  its  light  falling  upon 
his  snuff-brown  coat  with  its  brass  buttons,  pale-yellow 
waistcoat,  and  the  fluff  of  white  silk  about  his  throat — 
his  grave,  thoughtful  face  turned  toward  Kate  as  his 
nearest  guest,  his  glance  sweeping  the  crowded  room 
as  if  to  be  sure  that  everybody  was  at  ease;  Malachi 
close  behind  awaiting  his  master's  orders  to  further 
adjust  the  chair  and  reading-lamp. 

In  the  interim  of  the  hush  Kate  had  settled  herself 
at  Richard's  feet  on  the  low  stool  that  Willits  had 
brought,  the  young  man  standing  behind  her,  the  two 
making  a  picture  that  attracted  general  attention; 
some  wondering  at  her  choice,  while  others  were  out 
spoken  in  their  admiration  of  the  pair  who  seemed  so 
wonderfully  suited  to  each  other. 

"  I  have  a  rare  story,"  Richard  began  "  to  read  to 
you  to-night,  my  good  friends,  one  you  will  never  for 
get;  one,  indeed,  which  I  am  sure  the  world  at  large 
will  never  forget.  I  shall  read  it  as  best  I  can,  begging 
your  indulgence  especially  in  rendering  the  dialect 

362 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

parts,  which,  if  badly  done,  often  mar  both  the  pathos 
and  humor  of  the  text."  Here  he  settled  himself  in 
his  chair  and  picked  up  the  small  volume,  Malachi, 
now  that  his  service  was  over,  tiptoeing  out  to  his  place 
in  the  hall  so  as  to  be  ready  for  belated  arrivals. 

The  room  grew  silent.  Even  Mrs.  Cheston,  who 
rarely  ceased  talking  when  she  had  anything  to  say — 
and  she  generally  did  have  something  to  say — folded 
her  hands  in  her  lap  and  settled  herself  in  her  arm 
chair,  her  whole  attention  fastened  on  the  reader. 
St.  George,  who  had  been  talking  to  her,  moved  up 
a  chair  so  he  could  watch  Kate's  face  the  better. 

Again  Richard  raised  his  voice: 

"The  time  is  of  the  present,  and  the  scene  is  laid 
in  one  of  those  small  towns  outside  London.  I  shall 
read  the  whole  story,  omitting  no  word  of  the  text,  for 
only  then  will  you  fully  grasp  the  beauty  of  the  au 
thor's  style." 

He  began  in  low,  clear  tones  reciting  the  contest 
between  the  hum  of  the  kettle  and  the  chirp  of  the 
cricket;  the  music  of  his  voice  lending  added  charm 
to  the  dual  song.  Then  there  followed  in  constantly 
increasing  intensity  the  happy  home  life  of  bewitch 
ing  Dot  Perrybingle  and  her  matter-of-fact  husband, 
John  the  Carrier,  with  sleepy  Tilly  Slowboy  and  the 
Baby  to  fill  out  the  picture;  the  gradual  unfolding  of  the 
events  that  led  up  to  the  cruel  marriage  about  to  take 
place  between  old  Tackleton,  the  mean  toy  merchant, 
and  sweet  May  Fielding,  in  love  with  the  sailor  boy, 
Edward,  lost  at  sea;  the  finding  of  the  mysterious  deaf 

363 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

old  man  by  John  the  Carrier,  and  the  bringing  him 
home  in  his  cart  to  Dot,  who  kept  him  all  night  be 
cause  his  friends  had  not  called  for  him;  the  rapid 
growth  of  a  love  affair  between  Dot  and  this  old 
man,  who  turned  out  to  be  a  handsome  young  fellow; 
the  heart-rending  discovery  by  John,  through  the  spy 
ing  of  Tackleton,  that  Dot  was  untrue  to  him,  she 
meeting  the  man  clandestinely  and  adjusting  the  dis 
guise  for  him,  laughing  all  the  while  at  the  ruse  she 
was  helping  him  to  play;  the  grief  of  John  when 
he  realized  the  truth,  he  sitting  all  night  alone  by  the 
fire  trying  to  make  up  his  mind  whether  he  would 
creep  upstairs  and  murder  the  villain  who  had  stolen 
"he  heart  of  his  little  Dot,  or  forgive  her  because  he 
was  so  much  older  than  she  and  it  was,  therefore,  nat 
ural  for  her  to  love  a  younger  man;  and  finally  the 
preparations  at  the  church,  where  Tackleton  was  to 
wed  the  beautiful  May  Fielding,  who,  broken-hearted 
over  the  death  of  her  sailor  boy,  had  at  last  suc 
cumbed  to  her  mother's  wishes  and  consented  to  join 
Tackleton  at  the  altar. 

For  an  hour  Richard's  well-modulated,  full-toned 
voice  rolled  on,  the  circle  drawing  closer  and  closer 
with  their  ears  and  hearts,  as  the  characters,  one  after 
another,  became  real  and  alive  under  the  reader's 
magical  rendering.  Dot  Perrybingle's  cheery,  laugh 
ing  accents;  Tackleton's  sharp,  rasping  tones;  John 
the  Carrier's  simple,  straightforward  utterances  and 
the  soft,  timid  cadence  of  old  Caleb,  the  toy  maker 
— (drowned  Edward's  father) — and  his  blind  daughter 

364 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Bertha  were  recognized  as  soon  as  the  reader  voiced 
their  speech.  So  thrilling  was  the  story  of  their  several 
joys  and  sorrows  that  Kate,  unconscious  of  her  sur 
roundings,  had  slipped  from  her  low  stool,  and  with 
the  weight  of  her  body  resting  on  her  knees,  sat  search 
ing  Richard's  face,  the  better  to  catch  every  word  that 
fell  from  his  lips. 

To  heighten  the  effect  of  what  was  the  most  dramatic 
part  of  the  story — the  return  of  the  wedding  party  to 
the  Carrier's  house,  where  Dot,  Caleb,  and  his  blind 
daughter  awaited  them — Richard  paused  for  a  moment 
as  if  to  rest  his  voice — the  room  the  while  deathly  still, 
the  loosening  of  a  pent-up  breath  now  and  then  show 
ing  how  tense  was  the  emotion.  Then  he  went  on: 

"  Are  those  wheels  upon  the  road,  Bertha  ?  "  cried  Dot.  "  You've 
a  quick  ear,  Bertha —  And  now  you  hear  them  stopping  at  the 
garden  gatel  And  now  you  hear  a  step  outside  the  door — the 
same  step,  Bertha,  is  it  not —  And  now " 

Dot  uttered  a  wild  cry  of  uncontrollable  delight,  and  running 
up  to  Caleb  put  her  hand  upon  his  eyes,  as  a  young  man  rushed 
into  the  room,  and,  flinging  away  his  hat  into  the  air,  came  sweep 
ing  down  upon  them. 

"Is  it  over?"  cried  Dot 

"Yes!" 

"Happily  over?" 

"Yes!" 

"  Do  you  recollect  the  voice,  dear  Caleb  ?  Did  you  ever  hear 
the  like  of  it  before?"  cried  Dot. 

"  If  my  boy  Edward  in  the  Golden  South  Americas  was  alive — " 
cried  Caleb,  trembling. 

"He  is  alive  I"  shrieked  Dot,  removing  her  hands  from  his 
eyes  and  clapping  them  in  ecstasy;  "look  at  him!  See  where 

365 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

he  stands  before  you,  healthy  and  strong!  Your  own  deai  son  I 
Your  own  dear,  living,  loving  brother,  Bertha!" 

All  honor  to  the  little  creature  for  her  transports!  All  honor 
to  her  tears  and  laughter,  when  the  three  were  locked  in  one 
another's  arms!  All  honor  to  the  heartiness  with  which  she  met 
the  sunburnt,  sailor-fellow,  with  his  dark,  streaming  hair,  half 
way,  and  never  turned  her  rosy  little  mouth  aside,  but  suffered 
him  to  kiss  it  freely,  and  to  press  her  to  his  bounding  heart! 

"Now  tell  him  (John)  all,  Edward,"  sobbed  Dot,  "and 
don't  spare  me,  for  nothing  shall  make  me  spare  myself  in  his 
eyes  ever  again." 

"I  was  the  man,"  said  Edward. 

"And  you  could  steal  disguised  into  the  home  of  your  old 
friend,"  rejoined  the  carrier  .  .  . 

"But  I  had  a  passion  for  her." 

"You!" 

"I  had,"  rejoined  the  other,  "and  she  returned  it —  I  heard 
twenty  miles  away  that  she  was  false  to  me — I  had  no  mind  to 
reproach  her  but  to  see  for  myself." 

Once  more  Richard's  voice  faltered,  and  again  it 
rang  clear,  this  time  in  Dot's  tones: 

"But  when  she  knew  that  Edward  was  alive,  John,  and  had 
come  back — and  when  she — that's  me,  John — told  him  all — 
and  how  his  sweetheart  had  believed  him  to  be  dead,  and  how  she 
had  been  over-persuaded  by  her  mother  into  a  marriage — and 
when  she — that's  me  again,  John — told  him  they  were  not  mar 
ried,  though  close  upon  it — and  when  he  went  nearly  mad  for 
joy  to  hear  it — then  she — that's  me  again — said  she  would  go 
and  sound  his  sweetheart — and  she  did — and  they  were  married 
an  hour  ago! — John,  an  hour  ago!  And  here's  the  bride!  And 
Gruff  and  Tackleton  may  die  a  bachelor!  And  I'm  a  happy 
little  woman,  May,  God  bless  you!" 

Little  woman,  how  she  sobbed!  John  Perry bingle  would  have 
caught  her  in  his  arms.  But  no;  she  wouldn't  let  him. 

366 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Don't  love  me  yet,  please,  John!  Not  for  a  long  time  yet! 
No — keep  there,  please,  John!  When  I  laugh  at  you,  as  I  some 
times  do,  John,  and  call  you  clumsy,  and  a  dear  old  goose,  and 
names  of  that  sort,  it's  because  I  love  you,  John,  so  well.  And 
when  I  speak  of  people  being  middle-aged  and  steady,  John,  and 
pretend  that  we  are  a  humdrum  couple,  going  on  in  a  jog-trot 
sort  of  way,  it's  only  because  I'm  such  a  silly  little  thing,  John, 
that  I  like,  sometimes,  to  act  a  kind  of  play  with  Baby,  and  all 
that,  and  make  believe." 

She  saw  that  he  was  coming,  and  stopped  him  again.  But  she 
was  very  nearly  too  late. 

"No,  don't  love  me  for  another  minute  or  two,  if  you  please, 
John  I  When  I  first  came  home  here  I  was  half  afraid  I  mighn't 
learn  to  love  you  every  bit  as  well  as  I  hoped  and  prayed  I  might 
— being  so  very  young,  John.  But,  dear  John,  every  day  and 
hour  I  love  you  more  and  more.  And  if  I  could  have  loved  you 
better  than  I  do,  the  noble  words  I  heard  you  say  this  morning 
would  have  made  me.  But  I  can't.  All  the  affection  that  I 
had  (it  was  a  great  deal,  John)  I  gave  you,  as  you  well  deserve, 
long,  long  ago,  and  I  have  no  more  left  to  give.  Now,  my  dear 
husband,  take  me  to  your  heart  again!  That's  my  home,  John; 
and  never,  never  think  of  sending  me  to  any  other." 

Richard  stopped  and  picking  up  a  glass  from  the 
table  moistened  his  lips.  The  silence  continued. 
Down  more  than  one  face  the  tears  were  trickling, 
as  they  have  trickled  down  millions  of  faces  since. 
Kate  had  crept  imperceptibly  nearer  until  her  hands 
could  have  touched  Richard's  knees.  When  Willits 
bent  over  her  with  a  whispered  comment  a  slight 
shiver  ran  through  her,  but  she  neither  answered  nor 
turned  her  head.  It  was  only  when  Richard's  voice 
finally  ceased  with  the  loud  chirp  of  the  cricket  at  the 
close  of  the  beloved  story,  and  St.  George  had  helped 

367 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

her  to  her  feet,  that  she  seemed  to  awake  to  a  sense  of 
where  she  was.  Even  then  she  looked  about  her  in 
a  dazed  way,  as  if  she  feared  some  one  had  been 
probing  her  heart — hanging  back  till  the  others  had 
showered  their  congratulations  on  the  reader.  Then 
leaning  forward  she  placed  her  hands  in  Richard's  as 
if  to  steady  herself,  and  with  a  sigh  that  seemed  to 
come  from  the  depths  of  her  nature  bent  her  head 
and  kissed  him  softly  on  the  cheek. 

When  the  eggnog  was  being  served  and  the  guests 
were  broken  up  into  knots  and  groups,  all  discussing  the 
beauty  of  the  reading,  she  suddenly  left  Willits,  who 
had  followed  her  every  move  as  if  he  had  a  prior  right 
to  her  person,  and  going  up  to  St.  George,  led  him  out 
of  the  room  to  one  of  the  sofas  in  Richard's  study, 
her  lips  quivering,  the  undried  tears  still  trembling 
on  her  eyelids.  She  did  not  release  his  hand  as  they 
took  their  seats.  Her  fingers  closed  only  the  tighter, 
as  if  she  feared  he  would  slip  from  her  grasp. 

"It  was  all  so  beautiful  and  so  terrible,  Uncl< 
George,"  she  moaned  at  last — "  and  all  so  true.  Such 
awful  mistakes  are  made  and  then  it  is  too  late. 
And  nobody  understands — nobody — nobody!"  She 
paused,  as  if  the  mere  utterance  pained  her,  and  then 
to  St.  George's  amazement  asked  abruplty  "Is  there 
nothing  yet  from  Harry?" 

St.  George  looked  at  her  keenly,  wondering  whether 
he  had  caught  the  words  aright.  It  had  been  months 
since  Harry's  name  had  crossed  her  lips. 

"No,  nothing,"  he  answered  simplv,  trying  to 
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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

fathom  her  purpose  and  completely  at  sea  as  to  her 
real  motive — "  not  for  some  months.  Not  since  he 
left  the  ship." 

"And  do  you  think  he  is  in  any  danger?"  She  had 
released  his  hand,  and  with  her  fingers  resting  on  the 
sleeve  of  his  coat  sat  looking  into  his  eyes  as  if  to 
read  their  meaning. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied  in  a  non-committal  tone, 
still  trying  to  understand  her  purpose.  "He  meant 
then  to  go  to  the  mountains,  so  he  wrote  his  mother. 
This  may  account  for  our  not  hearing.  Why  do  you 
ask?  Have  you  had  any  news  of  him  yourself?"  he 
added,  studying  her  face  for  some  solution  of  her 
strange  attitude. 

She  sank  back  on  the  cushions.  "No,  he  never 
writes  to  me."  Then,  as  if  some  new  train  of  thought 
had  forced  its  way  into  her  mind,  she  exclaimed  sud 
denly  :  "  What  mountains  ?  " 

"Some  range  back  of  Rio,  if  I  remember  rightly. 
He  said  he " 

"Rio!  But  there  is  yellow  fever  at  Rio!"  she  cried, 
with  a  start  as  she  sat  erect  in  her  seat,  the  pupils  of 
her  eyes  grown  to  twice  their  size.  "  Father  lost  half 
of  one  of  his  crews  at  Rio.  He  heard  so  to-day.  It 
would  be  dreadful  for — for — his  mother — if  anything 
should  happen  to  him." 

Again  St.  George  scrutinized  her  face,  trying  to  probe 
deep  down  in  her  heart.  Had  she,  after  all,  some  af 
fection  left  for  this  boy  lover — and  her  future  hus 
band  within  hearing  distance!  No!  This  was  not 

369 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

his  Kate — he  understood  it  all  now.  It  was  the  spell 
of  the  story  that  still  held  her.  Richard's  voice  had 
upset  her,  as  it  had  done  half  the  room. 

"Yes,  it  is  dreadful  for  everybody,"  he  added. 
And  then,  in  a  perfunctory  manner,  as  being  perhaps 
the  best  way  to  lead  the  conversation  into  other 
channels,  added:  "And  the  suspense  will  be  worse 
now — for  me  at  any  rate — for  I,  too,  am  going  away 
where  letters  reach  me  but  seldom." 

Her  hand  closed  convulsively  over  his. 

"You  going  away!  You!"  she  cried  in  a  half- 
frightened  tone.  "Oh,  please  don't,  Uncle  George! 
Oh! — I  don't  want  you  away  from  me!  Why  must 
you  go?  Oh,  no!  Not  now — not  now!" 

Her  distress  was  so  marked  and  her  voice  so  plead 
ing  that  he  was  about  to  tell  her  the  whole  story,  even 
to  that  of  the  shifts  he  had  been  put  to  to  get  food  for 
himself  and  Todd,  when  he  caught  sight  of  Willits 
making  his  way  through  the  throng  to  where  they  sat. 
His  lips  closed  tight.  This  man  would  always  be  a 
barrier  between  him  and  the  girl  he  had  loved  ever 
since  her  babyhood. 

"Well,  my  dear  Kate,"  he  replied  calmly,  his  eyes 
still  on  Willits,  who  in  approaching  from  the  other 
room  had  been  detained  by  a  guest,  "  you  see  I  must  go. 
Mr.  Pawson  wants  me  out  of  the  way  while  he  fixes 
up  some  of  my  accounts,  and  so  he  suggested  that  I 
go  back  to  Wesley  for  a  few  months."  He  paused  for 
an  instant  and,  still  keeping  his  eye  on  Willets,  added : 
"And  now  one  thing  more,  my  dear  Kate,  before 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

your  escort  claims  you" — here  his  voice  sank  to  a 
whisper — "promise  me  that  if  Harry  writes  to  you 
you  will  send  him  a  kind,  friendly  letter  in  return. 
It  can  do  you  no  harm  now,  nor  would  Harry  misun 
derstand  it — your  wedding  is  so  near.  A  letter  would 
greatly  cheer  him  in  his  loneliness." 

"But  he  won't  write!"  she  exclaimed  with  some 
bitterness — she  had  not  yet  noticed  Willits's  approach 
— "he'll  never  write  or  speak  to  me  again." 

"But  you  will  if  he  does?"  pleaded  St.  George, 
the  thought  of  his  boy's  loneliness  overmastering  every 
other  feeling. 

"But  he  won't,  I  tell  you — never — never!" 

"  But  if  he  should,  my  child  ?     If- 

He  stopped  and  raised  his  head.  Willits  stood 
gazing  down  at  them,  searching  St.  George's  face,  as 
if  to  learn  the  meaning  of  the  conference:  he  knew 
that  he  did  not  favor  his  suit. 

Kate  looked  up  and  her  face  flushed. 

"Yes — in  one  minute,  Mr.  Willits,"  and  without 
a  word  of  any  kind  to  St.  George  she  ros^  from  the 
sofa  and  with  her  arm  in  Willits's  left  the  room 


371 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

One  winter  evening  some  weeks  after  St.  George's 
departure,  Pawson  sat  before  a  smouldering  fire  in 
Temple's  front  room,  reading  by  the  light  of  a  low 
lamp.  He  had  rearranged  the  furniture — what  was 
left  of  it — both  in  this  and  the  adjoining  room,  in 
the  expectation  that  Fogbin  (Gorsuch's  attorney) 
would  move  in,  but  so  far  he  had  not  appeared,  nor 
had  any  word  come  from  either  Gorsuch  or  Colonel 
Rutter;  nor  had  any  one  either  written  or  called  upon 
him  in  regard  to  the  overdue  payment;  neither  had 
any  legal  papers  been  served. 

This  prolonged  and  ominous  silence  disturbed  him; 
so  much  so  that  he  had  made  it  a  point  to  be  as  much 
in  his  office  as  possible  should  his  enemy  spring  any  un 
expected  trap. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  some  misgivings  that  he  an 
swered  a  quick,  impatient  rap  on  his  front  door  at  the 
unusual  hour  of  ten  o'clock.  If  it  were  Fogbin  he 
had  everything  ready  for  his  comfort;  if  it  were  any 
one  else  he  would  meet  him  as  best  he  could:  no 
legal  papers,  at  any  rate,  could  be  served  at  that  hour. 

He  swung  back  the  door  and  a  full-bearded,  tightlj- 
knit,  well-built  man  in  rough  clothes  stepped  in.  In 
the  dim  light  cf  the  overhead  lamp  he  caught  the 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

flash  of  a  pair  of  determined  eyes  set  in  a  strong, 
forceful  face. 

"  I  want  Mr.  Temple,"  said  the  man,  who  had  now 
removed  his  cap  and  stood  looking  about  him,  as  if 
making  an  inventory  of  the  scanty  furniture. 

"He  is  not  here,"  replied  Pawson,  rummaging  the 
intruder's  face  for  some  clew  to  his  identity  and  pur 
pose  in  calling  at  so  late  an  hour. 

"Are  you  sure?"  There  was  doubt  as  well  as 
marked  surprise  in  the  man's  tone.  He  evidently 
did  not  believe  a  word  of  the  statement. 

"Very  sure/'  rejoined  the  attorney  in  a  more  positive 
tone,  his  eyes  still  on  the  stranger.  "He  left  town 
some  weeks  ago." 

The  intruder  turned  sharply,  and  with  a  brisk  in 
quisitive  movement  strode  past  him  and  pushed  open 
the  dining-room  door.  There  he  stood  for  a  moment, 
his  eyes  roaming  over  the  meagre  appointments  of 
the  interior — the  sideboard,  bare  of  everything  but  a 
pitcher  and  some  tumblers — the  old  mahogany  table 
littered  with  law  books  and  papers — the  mantel 
stripped  of  its  clock  and  candelabras.  Then  he  stepped 
inside,  and  without  explanation  of  any  kind,  crossed 
the  room,  opened  the  door  of  St.  George's  bedroom, 
and  swept  a  comprehensive  glance  around  the  de 
spoiled  interior.  Once  he  stopped  and  peered  into 
the  gloom  as  if  expecting  to  find  the  object  of  his 
search  concealed  in  its  shadows. 

"What  has  happened  here?"  he  demanded  in  a 
voice  which  plainly  showed  his  disappointment. 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Do  you  mean  what  has  become  of  the  rest  of  the 
furniture?"  asked  the  attorney  in  reply,  gaining  time 
to  decide  upon  his  course. 

"Yes,  who  is  responsible  for  this  business?"  he 
exclaimed  angrily.  "Has  it  been  done  during  his 
absence?" 

Pawson  hesitated.  That  the  intruder  was  one  of 
Gorsuch's  men,  and  that  he  had  been  sent  in  advance 
on  an  errand  of  investigation,  was  no  longer  to  be 
doubted.  He,  however,  did  not  want  to  add  any  fuel 
to  his  increasing  heat,  so  he  answered  simply: 

"Mr.  Temple  got  caught  in  the  Patapsco  failure 
and  it  went  pretty  hard  with  him,  and  so  what  he 
didn't  actually  need  he  sold." 

The  man  gave  a  start,  his  features  hardening;  but 
whether  of  surprise  or  dissatisfaction  Pawson  could 
not  tell. 

"And  when  it  was  all  gone  he  went  away — is  that 
what  you  mean?"  This  came  in  a  softened  tone. 

"Yes — that  seems  to  be  the  size  of  it.  I  suppose 
you  come  about — some" —  again  he  hesitated,  not 
knowing  exactly  where  the  man  stood — "about  some 
money  due  you? — Am  I  right?" 

"  No,  I  came  to  see  Mr.  Temple,  and  I  must  see  him, 
and  at  once.  How  long  will  he  be  gone?" 

"All  winter — perhaps  longer."  The  attorney  had 
begun  to  breathe  again.  The  situation  might  not  be  as 
serious  as  he  had  supposed.  If  he  wanted  to  see  Mr. 
Temple  himself,  and  no  one  else  would  do,  there  was 
still  chance  of  delay  in  the  wiping  out  of  the  property. 

374 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Again  the  man's  eyes  roamed  over  the  room,  the 
bareness  of  which  seemed  still  to  impress  him.  Then 
he  asked  simply:  "Where  will  a  letter  reach  him?" 

"I  can't  say  exactly.  I  thought  he  had  gone  to 
Virginia — but  he  doesn't  answer  any  of  my  com 
munications." 

A  look  of  suspicion  crept  into  the  intruder's  eyes. 

"You're  not  trying  to  deceive  me,  are  you?  It  is 
very  important  that  I  should  see  Mr.  Temple,  and  at 
once."  Then  his  manner  altered.  "You've  forgot 
ten  me,  Mr.  Pawson,  but  I  have  not  forgotten  you 
— my  name  is  Rutter.  I  lived  here  with  Mr.  Temple 
before  I  went  to  sea,  three  years  ago.  I  am  just  home 
— I  left  the  ship  an  hour  ago.  I'll  sit  down  if  you 
don't  mind — I've  still  got  my  sea-legs  on  and  am  a 
little  wobbly." 

Pawson  twisted  his  thin  body  and  bent  his  neck, 
his  eyes  glued  to  the  speaker's  face.  There  was  not 
a  trace  of  young  Harry  in  the  features. 

"Well,  you  don't  look  like  him,"  he  replied  in 
credulously — "he  was  slender — not  half  your  size, 
and " 

"Yes — I  don't  blame  you.  I  am  a  good  deal 
heavier;  may  be  too  a  beard  makes  some  change 
in  a  man's  face.  But  you  don't  really  doubt  me,  do 
you  ?  Have  you  forgotten  the  bills  that  man  Gadgem 
brought  in  ? — the  five  hundred  dollars  due  Slater,  and 
the  horse  Hampson  sold  me — the  one  I  shot?"  and 
one  of  his  old  musical  laughs  rose  to  his  lips. 

Pawson  sprang  forward  and  seized  the  intruder's 
375 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

hand.     He  would  recognize  that  laugh  among  a  thou 
sand: 

"  Yes — I  know  you  now!  It's  all  come  back  to  me," 
he  cried  joyously.  "But  you  gave  me  a  terrible 
start,  Mr.  Rutter.  I  thought  you  had  come  to  clear 
up  what  was  left.  Oh! — but  I  am  glad  you  are  back. 
Your  uncle — you  always  called  him  so,  I  remember 
• — your  uncle  has  had  an  awful  hard  time  of  it — had 
to  sell  most  of  his  things — terrible — terrible!  And 
ihen,  too,  he  has  grieved  so  over  you — asking  me, 
sometimes  two  or  three  times  a  day,  for  letters  from 
you — asking  me  questions  and  worrying  over  your  not 
coming  and  not  answering.  Oh,  this  is  fine.  Now 
may  be  we  can  save  the  situation.  You  don't  mind 
my  shaking  your  hand  again,  do  you  ?  It's  so  good 
to  know  there  is  somebody  who  can  help.  I  have 
been  all  alone  so  far  except  Gadgem — who  has  been 
a  treasure.  You  remember  him.  Why  didn't  you 
let  Mr.  Temple  know  you  were  coming?" 

"I  couldn't.  I  have  been  up  in  the  mountains  of 
Brazil,  and  coming  home  went  ashore — got  wrecked. 
These  clothes  I  bought  from  a  sailor,"  and  he  opened 
his  rough  jacket  the  wider. 

"Yes — that's  exactly  what  I  heard  him  say — that's 
what  he  thought — that  is,  that  you  were  where  you 
couldn't  write,  although  I  never  heard  him  say  any 
thing  about  shipwreck.  I  remember  his  telling  Mr. 
Willits  and  Miss  Seymour  that  same  thing  the  morn 
ing  he  left — that  you  couldn't  write.  They  came  to 
see  him  off." 

376 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Harry  edged  his  chair  nearer  the  fireplace  and 
propped  one  shoe  on  the  fender  as  if  to  dry  it,  although 
the  night  was  fair.  The  mention  of  Kate's  and  her 
suitor's  names  had  sent  the  blood  to  his  head  and  he 
was  using  the  subterfuge  in  the  effort  to  regain  control 
of  himself  before  Pawson  should  read  all  his  secrets. 

Shifting  his  body  he  rested  his  head  on  his  hand, 
the  light  of  the  lamp  bringing  into  clearer  relief  his 
fresh,  healthy  skin,  finely  modelled  nose,  and  wide 
brow,  the  brown  hair,  clipped  close  to  his  head,  still 
holding  its  glossy  sheen.  For  some  seconds  he  did 
not  speak:  the  low  song  of  the  fire  seemed  to  absorb 
him.  Now  and  then  Pawson,  who  was  watching  him 
intently,  heard  him  strangle  a  rebellious  sigh,  as  if 
some  old  memory  were  troubling  him.  His  hand 
dropped  and  with  a  quick  movement  he  faced  his 
companion  again. 

"I  have  been  away  a  long  time,  Mr.  Pawson,"  he 
said  in  a  thoughtful  tone.  "For  three  months — four 
now — I  have  had  no  letters  from  anybody.  It  was 
my  fault  partly,  but  let  that  go.  I  want  you  to  answer 
some  questions,  and  I  want  you  to  tell  me  the  truth — 
all  the  truth.  I  haven't  any  use  for  any  other  kind 
of  man — do  you  understand?  Is  my  mother  alive?" 

"Yes." 

"And  Alec?     Is  he  all  right?" 

Pawson  nodded. 

"  And  my  uncle  ?  Is  he  ruined  ? — so  badly  ruined 
that  he  is  suffering?  Tell  me."  There  was  a  pecu 
liar  oathos  in  his  tone — so  much  so  that  Pawson,  who 

377 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

had  been  standing,  settled  into  a  chair  beside  him  that 
his  answers  might,  if  possible,  be  the  more  intimate 
and  sympathetic. 

"  Fm  afraid  he  is.  The  only  hope  is  the  postpone 
ment  in  some  way  of  the  foreclosure  of  the  mortgage 
on  this  house  until  times  get  better.  It  wouldn't 
bring  its  face  value  to-day." 

Harry  caught  his  breath:  "My  God! — you  don't 
tell  me  so!  Poor  Uncle  George — so  fine  and  splendid 
— so  good  to  everybody,  and  he  has  come  to  this! 
And  about  this  mortgage — who  owns  it?" 

"Mr.  Gorsuch,  I  understand,  owns  it  now:  he 
bought  it  of  the  Tyson  estate." 

"You  mean  John  Gorsuch — my  father's  man  of 
business?" 

"Yes." 

"And  was  there  nothing  left? — no  money  coming 
in  from  anywhere?" 

Pawson  shook  his  head:  "We  collected  all  that 
some  time  ago — it  came  from  some  old  ground 
rents." 

"  And  how  has  he  lived  since  ?  "  He  wanted  to  hear 
it  all;  he  could  help  better  if  he  knew  how  far  down 
the  ladder  to  begin. 

"From  hand  to  mouth,  really."  And  then  there 
followed  his  own  and  Gadgem's  efforts  to  keep  the 
wolf  from  the  door;  the  sale  of  the  guns,  saddles,  and 
furniture;  the  wrench  over  the  Castullux  cup — and 
what  a  godsend  it  was  that  Kirk  got  such  a  good  price 
for  it — down  to  the  parting  with  the  last  article  that 

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KENNEDY  SQUARE 

either  or  both  of  them  could  sell  or  pawn,  including 
his  four  splendid  setters. 

As  the  sad  story  fell  from  the  attorney's  sympathetic 
lips  Harry  would  now  and  then  cover  his  face  with  his 
hands  in  the  effort  to  hide  the  tears.  He  knew  that 
the  ruin  was  now  complete.  He  knew,  too,  that  he  had 
been  the  cause  of  it.  Then  his  thoughts  reverted  to  the 
old  regime  and  its  comforts:  those  which  his  uncle 
had  shared  with  him  so  generously. 

"And  what  has  become  of  my  uncle's  servants?" 
he  asked — "his  cook,  Aunt  Jemima,  and  his  body- 
servant,  Todd?" 

"I  don't  know  what  has  become  of  the  cook,  but 
he  took  Todd  with  him." 

Harry  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  If  Todd  was  with 
him  life  would  still  be  made  bearable  for  his  uncle. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  a  winter  with  Tom  Coston  was  the 
wisest  thing  he  could  have  done. 

One  other  question  now  trembled  on  his  lips.  It 
was  one  he  felt  he  had  no  right  to  ask — not  of  Paw- 
son — but  it  was  his  only  opportunity,  and  he  must 
know  the  truth  if  he  was  to  carry  out  the  other  plans  he 
had  in  view  the  day  he  dropped  everything  and  came 
home  without  warning.  At  last  he  asked  casually: 

"Do  you  know  whether  my  father  returned  to 
Uncle  George  the  money  he  paid  out  for  me?"  Not 
that  it  was  important — more  as  if  he  wanted  to  be 
posted  on  current  events. 

"He  tried,  but  Mr.  Temple  wouldn't  take  it.  I 
had  the  matter  in  hand,  and  know.  This  was  some 

379 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

three  years  ago.  He  has  never  offered  it  since — not 
to  my  knowledge." 

Harry's  face  lightened.  Some  trace  of  decency  was 
still  left  in  the  Rutter  blood!  This  money  was  in  all 
honor  owed  by  his  father  and  might  still  become  an 
asset  if  he  and  his  uncle  should  ever  become  rec 
onciled. 

"  And  can  you  tell  me  how  they  all  are — out  at  Moor 
lands?  Have  you  seen  my  father  lately  ?" 

"  Not  your  father,  but  I  met  your  old  servant,  Alec, 
a  few  days  ago." 

"Alec!— dear  old  Alec!  Tell  me  about  him.  And 
my  mother — was  she  all  right?  What  did  Alec  say, 
and  how  did  the  old  man  look?" 

"  Yes;  your  mother  was  well.  He  said  they  were  all 
well,  except  Colonel  Rutter,  whose  eyes  troubled  him. 
Alec  seemed  pretty  much  the  same — may  be  a  little 
older." 

Harry's  mind  began  to  wander.  The  room  and 
his  companion  were  forgotten.  He  was  again  at 
Moorlands,  the  old  negro  following  him  about,  his 
dear  mother  sitting  by  his  bed  or  kissing  him  good 
night. 

For  an  intant  he  sat  gazing  into  the  smouldering 
embers  absorbed  in  his  thoughts.  Then  as  if  some  new 
vista  had  opened  out  before  him  he  asked  suddenly: 

"You  don't  know  what  he  was  doing  in  town,  do 
you?  Was  my  mother  with  him?" 

"No,  he  was  alone.  He  had  brought  some  things 
in  for  Mr.  Seymour — some  game  or  something,  if  I 

380 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

remember  right.  There's  to  be  a  wedding  there  soon, 
so  I  hear.  Yes,  now  I  think  of  it,  it  was  game — some 
partridges,  perhaps,  your  father  had  sent  in.  The  old 
man  asked  about  you — he  always  does.  And  now, 
Mr.  Rutter,  tell  me  about  yourself — have  you  done 
well?"  He  didn't  think  he  had,  judging  from  his 
general  appearance,  but  he  wanted  to  be  sure  in  case 
St.  George  asked  him. 

Harry  settled  in  his  chair,  his  broad  shoulders  fill* 
ing  the  back.  The  news  of  Kate's  wedding  was  what 
he  had  expected.  Perhaps  it  was  already  over.  He 
was  glad,  however,  the  information  had  come  to  him 
unsought.  For  an  instant  he  made  no  reply  to  Paw- 
son's  inquiry,  then  he  answered  slowly:  "Yes,  and 
no.  I  have  made  a  little  money — not  much — but 
some — not  enough  to  pay  Uncle  George  everything  I 
owe  him — not  yet;  another  time  I  shall  do  better. 
I  was  down  with  fever  for  a  while  and  that  cost  me  a 
good  deal  of  what  I  had  saved.  But  I  had  to  come 
back.  I  met  a  man  who  told  me  Uncle  George  was 
ruined;  that  he  had  left  this  house  and  that  some 
body  had  put  a  sign  on  it.  I  thought  at  first  that 
this  must  refer  to  you  and  your  old  arrangement  in 
the  basement,  until  I  questioned  him  closer.  I  knew 
how  careless  he  had  always  been  about  his  money  trans 
actions,  and  was  afraid  some  one  had  taken  advan 
tage  of  him.  That's  why  I  was  so  upset  when  I  came 
in  a  while  ago:  I  thought  they  had  stolen  his  furniture 
as  well.  The  ship  Mohican — one  of  the  old  Barkeley 
line — was  sailing  the  day  I  reached  the  coast  and  I 

381 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

got  aboard  and  worked  my  passage  home.  I  learned 
to  do  that  on  my  way  out.  I  learned  to  wear  a  beard 
too.  Not  very  becoming,  is  it?" — and  a  low,  forced 
laugh  escaped  his  lips.  "But  shaving  is  not  easy 
aboard  ship  or  in  the  mines." 

Pawson  made  no  reply.  He  had  been  studying 
his  guest  the  closer  while  he  was  talking,  his  mind 
more  on  the  man  than  on  what  he  was  saying.  The 
old  Harry,  which  the  dim  light  of  the  hall  and  room 
had  hidden,  was  slowly  coming  back  to  him: — the 
quick  turn  of  the  head;  the  way  his 'lips  quivered 
when  he  laughed;  the  exquisitely  modelled  nose  and 
brow,  and  the  way  the  hair  grew  on  the  temples.  The 
tones  of  his  voice,  too,  had  the  old  musical  ring.  It 
was  the  same  madcap,  daredevil  boy  mellowed  and 
strengthened  by  contact  with  the  outside  world.  Next 
he  scrutinized  his  hands,  their  backs  bronzed  and 
roughened  by  contact  with  the  weather,  and  waited 
eagerly  until  some  gesture  opened  the  delicately  turned 
fingers,  exposing  the  white  palms,  and  felt  relieved 
and  glad  when  he  saw  that  they  showed  no  rough 
usage.  His  glance  rested  on  his  well-turned  thighs, 
slender  waist,  and  broad,  strong  shoulders  and  arms — 
and  then  his  eyes — so  clear,  and  his  skin  so  smooth 
and  fresh — a  clean  soul  in  a  clean  body!  What  joy 
would  be  Temple's  when  he  got  his  arms  around  this 
young  fellow  once  more! 

The  wanderer  reached  for  his  cap  and  pushed  back 
his  chair.  For  an  instant  he  stood  gazing  into  the 
smouldering  coals  as  if  he  hated  to  leave  their  warmth, 

382 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

his  brow  clouded,  his  shoulders  drawn  back.  He  had 
all  the  information  he  wanted — all  he  had  come  in 
search  of,  although  it  was  not  exactly  what  he  wished 
or  what  he  had  expected: — his  uncle  ruined  and  an 
exile;  his  father  half  blind  and  Kate's  wedding  ex 
pected  any  week.  That  was  enough  at  least  for  one 
night. 

He  stepped  forward  and  grasped  Pawson's  hand, 
his  well-knit,  alert  body  in  contrast  to  the  loosely 
jointed,  long-legged,  young  attorney. 

"  I  must  thank  you,  Mr.  Pawson,"  he  said  in  his  old 
outspoken,  hearty  way  "  for  your  frankness,  and  I  must 
also  apologize  for  my  apparent  rudeness  when  I  first 
entered  your  door;  but,  as  I  told  you,  I  was  so  as 
tounded  and  angry  at  what  I  saw  that  I  hardly  knew 
what  I  was  doing.  And  now  one  thing  more  before  I 
take  my  leave:  if  Mr.  Temple  does  not  want  his 
present  retreat  known — and  I  gather  from  the  mys 
terious  way  in  which  you  have  spoken  that  he  does 
not — let  me  tell  you  that  I  do  not  want  mine  known 
either.  Please  do  not  say  to  any  one  that  you  have 
seen  me,  or  answer  any  questions — not  for  a  time,  at 
least.  Good-night!" 

With  the  closing  of  the  front  door  behind  him  the 
exile  came  to  a  standstill  on  the  top  step  and  looked 
about  him.  Across  the  park — beyond  the  trees,  close 
sheltered  under  the  wide  protecting  roof,  lay  Kate. 
All  the  weary  miles  out  and  back  had  this  picture 
been  fixed  in  his  mind.  She  was  doubtless  asleep  as 
it  was  now  past  eleven  o'clock:  he  would  know  by 

383 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

the  lights.  But  even  the  sight  of  the  roof  that  sheltered 
her  would,  in  itself,  be  a  comfort.  It  had  been  many 
long  years  since  he  had  breathed  the  same  air  with  her; 
slept  under  the  same  stars;  walked  where  her  feet 
had  trodden.  For  some  seconds  he  stood  undecided. 
Should  he  return  to  the  Sailors'  House  where  he  had 
left  his  few  belongings  and  banish  all  thoughts  of  her 
from  his  mind  now  that  his  worst  fears  had  been  con 
firmed  ?  or  should  he  yield  to  the  strain  on  his  heart 
strings?  If  she  were  asleep  the  whole  house  would 
be  dark;  if  she  were  at  some  neighbor's  and  Mammy 
Henny  was  sitting  up  for  her,  the  windows  in  the  bed 
room  would  be  dark  and  the  hall  lamp  still  burning 
— he  had  watched  it  so  often  before  and  knew  the 
signs. 

Drawing  the  collar  of  his  rough  peajacket  close 
about  his  throat  and  crowding  his  cap  to  his  ears,  he 
descended  the  steps  and  with  one  of  his  quick,  decided 
movements  plunged  into  the  park,  now  silent  and 
deserted. 

As  he  neared  the  Seymour  house  he  became  con 
scious,  from  the  glow  of  lights  gleaming  between  the 
leafless  branches  of  the  trees,  that  something  out  of 
the  common  was  going  on  inside.  The  house  was 
ablaze  from  the  basement  to  the  roof,  with  every  win 
dow-shade  illumined.  Outside  the  steps,  and  as  far 
out  as  the  curb,  lounged  groups  of  attendants,  while 
in  the  side  street,  sheltered  by  the  ghostly  trees,  there 
could  be  made  out  the  wheels  and  hoods  of  carryalls 
and  the  glint  of  harness.  Now  and  then  the  door 

384 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

would  open  and  a  bevy  of  muffled  figures — the  men  in 
cloaks,  the  girls  in  nubias  wound  about  their  heads 
and  shoulders — would  pass  out.  The  Seymours  were 
evidently  giving  a  ball,  or  was  it — and  the  blood  left 
his  face  and  little  chills  ran  loose  through  his  hair — 
was  it  Kate's  wedding  night?  Pawson  had  said  that 
a  marriage  would  soon  take  place,  and  in  the  imme 
diate  future.  It  was  either  this  or  an  important 
function  of  some  kind,  and  on  a  much  more  lavish 
scale  than  had  been  old  Prim's  custom  in  the  days 
when  he  knew  him.  Then  the  contents  of  Alec's 
basket  rose  in  his  mind.  That  was  why  his  father 
had  sent  the  pheasants!  Perhaps  both  he  and  his 
mother  were  inside! 

Sick  at  heart  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  with  quick 
ened  pace  retraced  his  steps.  He  would  not  be  a 
spy,  and  he  could  not  be  an  eavesdropper.  As  the 
thought  forced  itself  on  his  mind,  the  fear  that  he 
might  meet  some  one  whom  he  would  know,  or  who 
would  know  him,  overtook  him.  So  great  was  his 
anxiety  that  it  was  only  when  he  had  left  the  park  far 
behind  him  on  his  way  back  to  the  Sailors'  House, 
that  he  regained  his  composure.  He  was  prepared 
to  face  the  truth,  and  all  of  it  whatever  it  held  in 
store  for  him;  but  he  must  first  confront  his  father 
and  learn  just  how  he  stood  with  him;  then  he  would 
see  his  mother  and  Alec,  and  then  he  would  find  St. 
George:  Kate  must  come  last. 

The  news  that  his  father  had  offered  to  pay  his  debts 
Ithough  he  did  not  intend  that  that  should  relieve 
385 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

him  in  any  way  of  his  own  responsibility  to  his  uncle 
— kindled  fresh  hopes  in  his  heart  and  buoyed  him  up. 
Now  that  his  father  had  tried  repeatedly  to  repaii  the 
wrong  he  had  done  it  might  only  be  necessary  to  throw 
himself  on  his  knees  before  him  and  be  taken  back 
into  his  heart  and  arms.  To  see  him,  then,  was  his 
first  duty  and  this  he  would  begin  to  carry  out  in  the 
morning.  As  to  his  meeting  his  mother  and  Alec — 
should  he  fail  with  his  father — that  must  be  under 
taken  with  more  care,  for  he  could  not  place  himself 
in  the  position  of  sneaking  home  and  using  the  joy  his 
return  would  bring  them  as  a  means  to  soften  his 
father's  heart.  Yes,  he  would  find  his  father  first, 
then  his  mother  and  Alec.  If  his  father  received  him 
the  others  would  follow.  If  he  was  repulsed,  he  must 
seek  out  some  other  way. 

This  over  he  would  find  St.  George.  He  knew  exact 
ly  where  his  uncle  was,  although  he  had  not  said  so  to 
Pawson.  He  was  not  at  Coston's,  nor  anywhere  in 
the  vicinity  of  Wesley,  but  at  Craddock,  on  the  bay — 
a  small  country  house  some  miles  distant,  where  he 
and  his  dogs  had  often  spent  days  and  weeks  during 
the  ducking  season.  St.  George  had  settled  down 
there  to  rest  and  get  away  from  his  troubles;  that  was 
why  he  had  not  answered  Pawson 's  letters. 

Striding  along  with  his  alert,  springing  step,  he 
swung  through  the  deserted  and  unguarded  Marsh 
Market,  picked  his  way  between  the  piles  of  prod 
uce  and  market  carts,  and  plunging  down  a  narrow 
street  leading  to  the  wharf,  halted  before  a  door  over 

386 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

which  swung  a  lantern  burning  a  green  light.     Here 
he  entered. 

Although  it  was  now  near  midnight,  there  were 
still  eight  or  ten  seafaring  men  in  the  room — several 
of  them  members  of  his  own  crew  aboard  the  Mohican. 
Two  were  playing  checkers,  the  others  crowded  about  a 
square  table  where  a  game  of  cards  was  in  progress; 
wavy  lines  of  tobacco  smoke  floated  beneath  the  dingy 
ceiling;  at  one  end  was  a  small  bar  where  a  man  in 
a  woollen  shirt  was  filling  some  short,  thick  tumblers 
from  an  earthen  jug.  It  was  the  ordinary  sailors' 
retreat  where  the  men  put  up  before,  between,  and 
after  their  voyages. 

One  of  them  at  the  card-table  looked  up  from  his 
game  as  Harry  entered,  and  called  out: 

"  Man  been  lookin'  for  you — comin'  back,  he  says. 
My  trick!  Hearts,  wasn't  it? "(this  to  his  compan 
ions). 

"Do  I  know  him?"  asked  Harry  with  a  slight 
start,  pausing  on  his  way  to  his  bedroom  upstairs, 
where  he  had  left  his  bag  of  clothes  two  hours  before. 
Could  he  have  been  recognized  and  shadowed? 

"No — don't  think  so;  he's  a  street  vendor.  Got 
some  China  silks  to  sell — carries  his  pack  on  his  back 
and  looks  as  if  he'd  took  up  a  extry  'ole  in  his  belt. 
Hungry,  I  wouldn't  wonder.  Wanted  to  h'ist  'em 
fur  a  glass  o'  grog  an'  a  night's  lodgin',  but  Cap 
wouldn't  let  him — said  you'd  be  back  and  might  help 
him.  Wasn't  that  it,  Cap?"— this  to  the  landlord, 
who  nodded  in  reply. 

387 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"How  could  7  help  him?"  asked  Harry,  selecting  a 
tallow  dip  from  a  row  on  a  shelf,  but  in  a  tone  that 
implied  his  own  doubt  in  the  query,  as  well  as  his 
relief,  now  that  the  man  was  really  a  stranger. 

"Well,  this  is  your  port,  so  I  'ear.  Some  o'  them 
high-flyers  up  'round  the  park  might  lend  a  hand, 
may  be,  if  you'd  tip  'em  a  wink,  or  some  o*  their 
women  folks  might  take  a  shine  to  'em." 

"Looked  hungry,  did  you  say?"  Harry  asked, 
lighting  the  dip  at  an  oil  lamp  that  swung  near  the 
bar. 

"Yes — holler's  a  drum — see  straight  through  him; 
tired  too — beat  out.  You'd  think  so  if  you  see  him. 
My  play — clubs." 

Harry  turned  to  the  landlord :  "  If  this  man  comes 
in  again  give  him  food  and  lodging,"  and  he  handed 
him  a  bank  bill.  "If  he  is  here  in  the  morning  let 
me  see  him.  I'm  going  to  bed  now.  Good-night, 
men!" 


388 


CHAPTER  XXV 

Should  I  lapse  into  the  easy-flowing  style  of  the 
chroniclers  of  the  period  of  which  I  write — (and  how 
often  has  the  scribe  wished  he  could) — this  chapter 
would  open  with  the  announcement  that  on  this  par 
ticularly  bleak,  wintry  afternoon  a  gentleman  in  the 
equestrian  costume  of  the  day,  and  mounted  upon  a 
well-groomed,  high-spirited  white  horse,  might  have 
been  seen  galloping  rapidly  up  a  country  lane  leading 
to  an  old-fashioned  manor  house. 

Such,  however,  would  not  cover  the  facts.  While 
the  afternoon  was  certainly  wintry,  and  while  the 
rider  was  unquestionably  a  gentleman,  he  was  by  no 
manner  of  means  attired  in  velveteen  coat  and  russet- 
leather  boots  with  silver  spurs,  his  saddle-bags  strapped 
on  behind,  but  in  a  rough  and  badly  worn  sailor's 
suit,  his  free  hand  grasping  a  bundle  carried  loose 
on  his  pommel.  As  to  the  horse  neither  the  immortal 
James  or  any  of  his  school  could  truthfully  picture 
this  animal  as  either  white  or  high-spirited.  He 
might,  it  is  true,  have  been  born  white  and  would 
in  all  probability  have  stayed  white  but  for  the  many 
omissions  and  commissions  of  his  earlier  livery  stable 
training — traces  of  which  could  still  be  found  in  his 
scraped  sides  and  gnawed  mane  and  tail;  he  might  also 

389 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

have  once  had  a  certain  commendable  spirit  had  not 
the  ups  and  downs  of  road  life — and  they  were  pretty 
steep  outside  Kennedy  Square — taken  it  out  of  him. 

It  is,  however,  when  I  come  to  the  combination 
of  horse  and  rider  that  I  can  with  entire  safety  lapse 
into  the  flow  of  the  old  chroniclers.  For  whatever 
Harry  had  forgotten  in  his  many  experiences  since  he 
last  threw  his  leg  over  Spitfire,  horsemanship  was 
not  one  of  them.  He  still  rode  like  a  Cherokee  and 
still  sat  his  mount  like  a  prince. 

He  had  had  an  anxious  and  busy  morning.  With 
the  first  streak  of  dawn  he  had  written  a  long  letter  to 
his  Uncle  George,  in  which  he  told  him  of  his  arrival ; 
of  his  heart-felt  sorrow  at  what  Pawson  had  imparted 
and  of  his  leaving  immediately,  first  for  Wesley  and 
then  Craddock,  as  soon  as  he  found  out  how  the  land 
lay  at  Moorlands.  This  epistle  he  was  careful  to  enclose 
in  another  envelope,  which  he  directed  to  Justice  Cos- 
ton,  with  instructions  to  forward  it  with  "the  least 
possible  delay"  to  Mr.  Temple,  who  was  doubtless 
at  Craddock,  "and  who  was  imperatively  needed  at 
home  in  connection  with  some  matters  which  re 
quired  his  immediate  personal  attention,"  and  which 
enclosure,  it  is  just  as  well  to  state,  the  honorable  jus 
tice  placed  inside  the  mantel  clock,  that  being  the 
safest  place  for  such  precious  missives,  at  least  until 
the  right  owner  should  appear. 

This  duly  mailed,  he  had  returned  to  the  Sailors' 
House,  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  upstairs  room  in 
which,  through  his  generosity,  the  street  vendor  lay 

390 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

sleeping,  and  after  waking  him  up  and  becoming 
assured  that  the  man  was  in  real  distress,  had  bought 
at  twice  their  value  the  China  silks  which  had  caused 
the  disheartened  pedler  so  many  weary  hours  of 
tramping.  These  he  had  tucked  under  his  arm  and 
carried  away. 

The  act  was  not  alone  due  to  his  charitable  instincts. 
A  much  more  selfish  motive  influenced  him.  Indeed 
the  thought  came  to  him  in  a  way  that  had  determined 
him  to  attend  to  his  mail  at  early  dawn  and  return  at 
sunrise  lest  the  owner  should  disappear  and  take  the 
bundle  with  him.  The  silks  were  the  very  things  he 
needed  to  help  him  solve  one  of  his  greatest  difficulties. 
He  would  try,  as  the  sailor-pedler  had  done,  to  sell 
them  in  the  neighborhood  of  Moorlands — (a  common 
practice  in  those  days) — and  in  this  way  might  gather 
up  the  information  of  which  he  was  in  search.  Pawson 
had  not  known  him — perhaps  the  others  would  not: 
he  might  even  offer  the  silks  to  his  father  without 
being  detected. 

With  this  plan  clearly  defined  in  his  mind,  he  had 
walked  into  a  livery  stable  near  the  market,  but  a 
short  distance  from  his  lodgings,  with  the  silks  in  a 
bundle  and  after  looking  the  stock  over  had  picked  out 
this  unprepossessing  beast  as  best  able  to  take  him  to 
Moorlands  and  back  between  sunrise  and  dark. 

As  he  rode  on,  leaving  the  scattered  buildings  of  the 
town  far  behind,  mounting  the  hills  and  then  striking 
the  turnpike — every  rod  of  which  he  could  have  found 
in  the  dark — his  thoughts,  like  road-swallows,  skimmed 

391 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

mile  he  covered.  Here  was  where  he  had  stopped 
with  Kate  when  her  stirrup  broke;  near  the  branches 
of  that  oak  close  to  the  ditch  marking  the  triangle  of 
cross-roads  he  had  saved  his  own  and  Spitfire's  neck  by 
a  clear  jump  that  had  been  the  talk  of  the  neighborhood 
for  days.  On  the  crest  of  this  hill — the  one  he  was 
then  ascending — his  father  always  tightened  up  the 
brakes  on  his  four-in-hand,  and  on  the  slope  beyond 
invariably  braced  himself  in  his  seat,  swung  his  whip, 
and  the  flattened  team  swept  on  and  down,  leaving  a 
cloud  of  dust  in  its  wake  that  blurred  the  road  for 
minutes  thereafter. 

When  noon  came  he  dismounted  at  a  farmer's  out 
building  beside  the  road — he  would  not  trust  the 
public-houses — fed  and  watered  his  horse,  rubbed  him 
down  himself,  and  after  an  hour's  rest  pushed  on  tow 
ard  the  fork  in  the  road  to  Moorlands.  Beyond  this 
was  a  cross-path  that  led  to  the  outbarns  and  farm 
stables — a  path  bordered  by  thick  bushes  and  which 
skirted  a  fence  in  the  rear  of  the  manor  house  itself. 
Here  he  intended  to  tie  his  steed  and  there  he  would 
mount  him  again  should  his  mission  fail. 

The  dull  winter  sky  had  already  heralded  the  dusk 
• — it  was  near  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon — when  he 
passed  some  hayricks  where  a  group  of  negroes  were 
at  work.  One  or  two  raised  their  heads  and  then, 
as  if  reassured,  resumed  their  tasks.  This  encouraged 
him  to  push  on  the  nearer — he  had  evidently  been 
mistaken  for  one  of  the  many  tradespeople  seeking  his 
father's  overseer,  either  to  sell  tools  or  buy  produce. 

392 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Tying  the  horse  close  to  the  fence — so  close  that 
it  could  not  be  seen  from  the  house — he  threw  the 
bundle  of  silks  over  his  shoulder  and  struck  out  for 
the  small  office  in  the  rear.  Here  the  business  of  the 
estate  was  transacted,  and  here  were  almost  always  to 
be  found  either  the  overseer  or  one  of  his  assistants — 
both  of  them  white.  These  men  were  often  changed, 
and  his  chance,  therefore,  of  meeting  a  stranger  was 
all  the  more  likely. 

As  he  approached  the  low  sill  of  the  door  which 
was  level  with  the  ground,  and  which  now  stood  wide 
open,  he  caught  the  glow  of  a  fire  and  could  make 
out  the  figure  of  a  man  seated  at  a  desk  bending 
over  a  mass  of  papers.  The  man  pushed  back  a  green 
shade  which  had  protected  his  eyes  from  the  glare  of 
a  lamp  and  peered  out  at  him. 

It  was  his  father! 

The  discovery  was  so  unexpected  and  had  come 
with  such  suddenness — it  was  rarely  in  these  later 
days  that  the  colonel  was  to  be  found  here  in  the  after 
noon:  he  was  either  riding  or  receiving  visitors — that 
Harry's  first  thought  was  to  shrink  back  out  of  sight, 
or,  if  discovered,  to  make  some  excuse  for  his  intru 
sion  and  retire.  Then  his  mind  changed  and  he 
stepped  boldly  in.  This  was  what  he  had  come  for 
and  this  was  what  he  would  face. 

"I  have  some  China  silks  to  sell,"  he  said  in  his 
natural  tone  of  voice,  turning  his  head  so  that  while 
his  goods  were  in  sight  his  face  would  be  in  shadow. 

"Silks!  I  don't  want  any  silks!  Who  allowed  you 
393 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

to  pass  in  here?  Alec!"  He  pushed  back  his  chair 
and  moved  to  the  door.  "Alec!  Where  the  devil  is 
Alec!  He's  always  where  I  don't  want  him!" 

"I  saw  no  one  to  ask,  sir,"  Harry  replied  me 
chanically.  His  father's  appearance  had  sent  a  chill 
through  him;  he  would  hardly  have  known  him  had 
he  met  him  on  the  street.  Not  only  did  he  look  ten 
years  older,  but  the  injury  to  his  sight  caused  him 
to  glance  sideways  at  any  one  he  addressed,  completely 
destroying  the  old  fearless  look  in  his  eyes. 

"You  never  waited  to  ask!  You  walk  into  my 
private  office  unannounced  and — "  here  he  turned  the 
lamp  to  see  the  better.  "You're  a  sailor,  aren't  you  ?" 
he  added  fiercely — a  closer  view  of  the  intruder  only 
heightening  his  wrath. 

"  Yes,  sir — I'm  a  sailor,"  replied  Harry  simply,  his 
voice  dying  in  his  throat  as  he  summed  up  the  changes 
that  the  years  had  wrought  in  the  colonel's  once  hand 
some,  determined  face — thinner,  more  shrunken,  his 
mustache  and  the  short  temple-whiskers  almost  white. 

For  an  instant  his  father  crumpled  a  wisp  of  paper 
he  was  holding  between  his  fingers  and  thumb;  and 
then  demanded  sharply,  but  with  a  tone  of  curiosity, 
as  if  willing  the  intruder  should  tarry  a  moment  while 
he  gathered  the  information: 

"How  long  have  you  been  a  sailor?" 

"  I  am  just  in  from  my  last  voyage."  He  still  kept 
in  the  shadow  although  he  saw  his  father  had  so  far 
failed  to  recognize  him.  The  silks  had  been  laid  on  a 
chair  beside  him. 

394 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"That's  not  what  I  asked  you.  How  long  have 
you  been  a  sailor?"  He  was  scanning  his  face  now 
as  best  he  could,  shifting  the  green  shade  that  he 
might  see  the  better. 

"I  went  to  sea  three  years  ago." 

"Three  years,  eh?     Where  did  you  go?" 

The  tone  of  curiosity  had  increased.  Perhaps  the 
next  question  would  lead  up  to  some  basis  on  which 
he  could  either  declare  himself  or  lay  the  foundation 
of  a  declaration  to  be  made  the  next  day — after  he 
had  seen  his  mother  and  Alec. 

"To  South  America.  Para  was  my  first  port,"  he 
answered  simply,  wondering  why  he  wanted  to  know. 

"  That's  not  far  from  Rio  ?  "  He  was  still  looking 
sideways  at  him,  but  there  was  no  wavering  in  his  gaze. 

"No,  not  far — Rio  was  our  next  stopping  place. 
We  had  a  hard  voyage  and  put  in  to " 

"  Do  you  know  a  young  man  by  the  name  of  Rut- 
ter — slim  man  with  dark  hair  and  eyes?"  interrupted 
his  father  in  an  angry  tone. 

Harry  started  forward,  his  heart  in  his  mouth,  his 
hands  upraised,  his  fingers  opening.  It  was  all  he 
could  do  to  restrain  himself.  "Don't  you  know  me, 
father?"  was  trembling  on  his  lips.  Then  something 
in  the  sound  of  the  colonel's  voice  choked  his  utter 
ance.  Not  now,  he  thought,  mastering  his  emotion — 
a  moment  more  and  he  would  tell  him. 

"I  have  heard  of  him,  sir,"  he  answered  when  he 
recovered  his  speech,  straining  his  ears  to  catch  the 
next  word. 

395 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  Heard  of  him,  have  you  ?  So  has  everybody  else 
heard  of  him — a  worthless  scoundrel  who  broke  his 
mother's  heart;  a  man  who  disgraced  his  family — a 
gentleman  turned  brigand — a  renegade  who  has  gone 
back  on  his  blood!  Tell  him  so  if  you  see  him!  Tell 
him  I  said  so;  I'm  his  father,  and  know!  No — I  don't 
want  your  silks — don't  want  anything  that  has  to  do 
with  sailormen.  I  am  busy — please  go  away.  Don't 
stop  to  bundle  them  up — do  that  outside,"  and  he 
turned  his  back  and  readjusted  the  shade  over  his 
eyes. 

Harry's  heart  sank,  and  a  cold  faintness  stole  through 
his  frame.  He  was  not  angry  nor  indignant.  He  was 
stunned. 

Without  a  word  in  reply  he  gathered  up  the  silks 
from  the  chair,  tucked  them  under  his  arm,  and  re 
placing  his  cap  stepped  outside  into  the  fast  approach 
ing  twilight.  Whatever  the  morrow  might  bring  forth, 
nothing  more  could  be  done  to-day.  To  have  thrown 
himself  at  his  father's  feet  would  only  have  resulted 
in  his  being  driven  from  the  grounds  by  the  overseer, 
with  the  servants  looking  on — a  humiliation  he  could 
not  stand. 

As  he  stood  rolling  the  fabrics  into  a  smaller  com 
pass,  a  gray-haired  negro  in  the  livery  of  a  house 
servant  passed  hurriedly  and  entered  the  door  of  the 
office.  Instantly  his  father's  voice  rang  out: 

"Where  the  devil  have  you  been,  Alec?  How 
many  times  must  I  tell  you  to  look  after  me  oftener. 
Don't  you  know  I'm  half  blind  and —  No — I  don't 

396 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

want  any  more  wood — I  want  these  vagabonds  kept 
off  my  grounds.  Send  Mr.  Grant  to  me  at  once,  and 
don't  you  lose  sight  of  that  man  until  you  have  seen 
him  to  the  main  road.  He  says  he  is  a  sailor — and 
I've  had  enough  of  sailors,  and  so  has  everybody 
else  about  here." 

The  negro  bowed  and  backed  out  of  the  room.  No 
answer  of  any  kind  was  best  when  the  colonel  was  in 
one  of  his  "  tantrums." 

"I  reckon  I  hab  to  ask  ye,  sah,  to  quit  de  place — 
de  colonel  don't  'low  nobody  to — "  he  said  politely. 

Harry  turned  his  face  aside  and  started  for  the 
fence.  His  first  thought  was  to  drop  his  bundle  and 
throw  his  arms  around  Alec's  neck;  then  he  realized 
that  this  would  be  worse  than  his  declaring  himself 
to  his  father — he  could  then  be  accused  of  attempting 
deception  by  the  trick  of  a  disguise.  So  he  hurried 
on  to  where  his  horse  was  tied — his  back  to  Alec,  the 
bundle  shifted  to  his  left  shoulder  that  he  might  hide 
his  face  the  better  until  he  was  out  of  sight  of  the  office, 
the  old  man  stumbling  on,  calling  after  him: 

"No,  dat  ain't  de  way.  Yer  gotter  go  down  de 
main  road;  here,  man — don't  I  tell  yer  dat  ain't  de 
way." 

Harry  had  now  gained  the  fence  and  had  already 
begun  to  loosen  the  reins  when  Alec,  out  of  breath  and 
highly  indignant  over  the  refusal  to  carry  out  his 
warning,  reached  his  side. 

"  You  better  come  right  back  f 'om  whar  ye  started," 
the  old  negro  puffed;  "ye  can't  go  dat  way  or  dey'll 

397 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

set  de  dogs  on  ye."  Here  his  eyes  rested  on  the 
reins  and  forelock.  "What!  you  got  a  horse  an* 
you " 

Harry  turned  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  old  servant's 
shoulder.  He  could  hardly  control  his  voice: 

"Don't  you  know  me,  Alec?     I'm  Harry!" 

The  old  man  bent  down,  peered  into  Harry's  eyes, 
and  with  a  quick  spring  forward  grabbed  him  by  both 
shoulders. 

"You  my  Marse  Harry! — you!"  His  breath  was 
gone  now,  his  whole  body  in  a  tremble,  his  eyes  bulg 
ing  from  his  head. 

"Yes,  Alec,  Harry!  It's  only  the  beard.  Look  at 
me!  I  didn't  want  my  father  to  see  us — that's  why  I 
kept  on." 

The  old  servant  threw  up  his  hands  and  caught  his 
young  master  around  the  neck.  For  some  seconds  he 
could  not  speak. 

"And  de  colonel  druv  ye  out!"  he  gasped.  "Oh, 
my  Gawd!  my  Gawd!  And  ye  ain't  daid,  and  ye 
come  back  home  ag'in."  He  was  sobbing  now,  his 
head  on  the  exile's  shoulder,  Harry's  arms  about  him 
— patting  his  bent  back.  "  But  yer  gotter  go  back, 
Marse  Harry,"  he  moaned.  "He  ain't  'sponsible  these 
days.  He  didn't  know  ye!  Come  'long,  son;  come 
back  wid  ol'  Alec;  please  come,  Marse  Harry.  Oh, 
Gawd  !  ye  gotter  come!" 

"No,  I'll  go  home  to-night— another  day  I'll " 

"Ye  ain't  got  no  home  but  dis,  I  tell  ye!  Go  tell 
him  who  ye  is — lemme  run  tell  him.  I  won't  be  a 

398 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

minute.  Oh!  Marse  Harry,  I  can't  let  ye  go!  I 
been  dat  mizzable  widout  ye.  I  ain't  neber  got  over 
lovin'  ye!" 

Here  a  voice  from  near  the  office  broke  out.  In  the 
dusk  the  two  could  just  make  out  the  form  of  the  colo 
nel,  who  was  evidently  calling  to  some  of  his  people. 
He  was  bareheaded  and  without  his  shade. 

"I've  sent  Alec  to  see  him  safe  off  the  grounds. 
You  go  yourself,  Mr.  Grant,  and  follow  him  into  the 
highroad;  remember  that  after  this  I  hold  you  re 
sponsible  for  these  prowlers." 

The  two  had  paused  while  the  colonel  was  speak 
ing,  Harry,  gathering  the  reins  in  his  hand,  ready  to 
vault  into  the  saddle,  and  Alec,  holding  on  to  his  coat- 
sleeves  hoping  still  to  detain  him. 

"I  haven't  a  minute  more — quick,  Alec,  tell  me 
how  my  mother  is." 

"She's  middlin'  po'ly,  same's  ever;  got  great  rings 
under  her  eyes  and  her  heart's  dat  heaby  makes  abody 
cry  ter  look  at  'er.  But  she  ain't  sick,  jes'  griebin' 
herse'f  to  death.  Ain't  yer  gwineter  stop  and  see  'er  ? 
May  be  I  kin  git  ye  in  de  back  way." 

"  Not  now — not  here.  Bring  her  to  Uncle  George's 
house  to-morrow  about  noon,  and  I  will  be  there. 
Tell  her  how  I  look,  but  don't  tell  her  what  my 
father  has  done.  And  now  tell  me  about  Miss  Kate 
— how  long  since  you  saw  her?  Is  she  married?" 

Again  the  colonel's  voice  was  heard;  this  time 
much  nearer — within  hailing  distance.  He  and  the 
overseer  were  evidently  approaching  the  fence;  some 

399 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

of  the  negroes  had  doubtless  apprised  them  of  the 
course  of  Harry's  exit. 

Alec  turned  quickly  to  face  his  master,  and  Harry, 
realizing  that  his  last  moment  had  come,  swung  him 
self  into  the  saddle.  If  Alec  made  any  reply  to  his 
question  it  was  lost  in  the  clatter  of  hoofs  as  both 
horse  and  man  swept  down  the  by-path.  In  another 
moment  they  had  gained  the  main  road,  the  rider  never 
breaking  rein  until  he  had  reached  the  farm-house 
where  he  had  fed  and  watered  his  horse  some  hours 
before. 

Thirty-odd  miles  out  and  back  was  not  a  long 
ride  for  a  hired  horse  in  these  days  over  a  good  turn 
pike  with  plenty  of  time  for  resting — and  he  had  as 
many  breathing  spells  as  gallops,  for  Harry's  moods 
really  directed  his  gait.  Once  in  a  while  he  would 
give  him  his  head,  the  reins  lying  loose,  the  horse 
picking  his  way  in  a  walk.  Then  the  bitterness  of 
his  father's  words  and  how  undeserved  they  were,  and 
how  the  house  of  cards  his  hopes  had  built  up  had 
come  tumbling  down  about  his  ears  at  the  first  point 
of  contact  would  rush  over  him,  and  he  would  dig  his 
heels  into  the  horse's  flanks  and  send  him  at  full  gallop 
through  the  night  along  the  pale  ribbon  of  a  road 
barely  discernible  in  the  ghostly  dark.  When,  however, 
Alec's  sobs  smote  his  ear,  or  the  white  face  of  his 
mother  confronted  him,  the  animal  would  gradually 
slacken  his  pace  and  drop  into  a  walk. 

Dominated  by  these  emotions  certain  fixed  resolu- 
400 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

tions  at  last  took  possession  of  him:  He  would  see 
his  mother  at  once,  no  matter  at  what  cost — even  if 
he  defied  his  father — and  then  he  would  find  his  uncle. 
Whether  he  would  board  the  next  vessel  leaving  part 
and  return  to  his  work  in  the  mountains,  or  whether 
he  would  bring  his  uncle  back  from  Craddock  and 
the  two,  with  his  own  vigorous  youth  and  new  experi 
ence  of  the  world,  fight  it  out  together  as  they  had 
once  done  before,  depended  on  what  St.  George  ad 
vised.  Now  that  Kate's  marriage  was  practically  de 
cided  upon,  one  sorrow— and  his  greatest— was  settled 
forever.  Any  others  that  were  in  store  for  him  he 
would  meet  as  they  came. 

With  his  mind  still  intent  on  these  plans  he  rode  at 
last  into  the  open  door  of  the  small  courtyard  of  the 
livery  stable  and  drew  rein  under  a  swinging  lantern. 
It  was  past  ten  at  night,  and  the  place  was  deserted, 
except  by  a  young  negro  who  advanced  to  take  his 
horse.  Tossing  the  bridle  aside  he  slipped  to  the 
ground. 

"He's  wet,"  Harry  said,  "but  he's  all  right.  Let 
him  cool  off  gradually,  and  don't  give  him  any  water 
until  he  gets  dry.  I'll  come  in  to-morrow  and  pay  your 
people  what  I  owe  them." 

The  negro  curry-combed  his  fingers  down  the  horse's 
flanks  as  if  to  assure  himself  of  his  condition,  and  in 
the  movement  brought  his  face  under  the  glare  of 
the  overhead  light. 

Harry  grabbed  him  by  the  shoulder  and  swung  him 
round. 

401 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Todd — you  rascal!  What  are  you  doing  here? 
Why  are  you  not  down  on  the  Eastern  Shore  ?  "  His 
astonishment  was  so  intense  that  for  an  instant  he 
could  not  realize  he  had  the  right  man. 

The  negro  drew  back.  He  was  no  runaway  slave, 
and  he  didn't  intend  to  be  taken  for  one — certainly 
not  by  a  man  as  rough  and  suspicious  looking  as  the 
one  before  him. 

"How  you  know  my  name,  man?"  He  was  ner 
vous  and  scared  half  out  of  his  wits.  More  than  one 
negro  had  been  shanghaied  in  that  way  and  smuggled 
off  to  sea. 

"Know  you!  I'd  know  you  among  a  thousand. 
Have  you,  too,  deserted  your  master?"  He  still  held 
him  firmly  by  the  collar  of  his  coat,  his  voice  rising 
with  his  wrath.  "Why  have  you  left  him?  Answer 
me." 

For  an  instant  the  negro  hesitated,  leaned  forward, 
and  then  with  a  burst  of  joy  crid  out: 

"You  ain't! —  Fo'  Gawd  it  is!  Dat  beard  on  ye, 
Marse  Harry,  done  fool  me — but  you  is  him  fo'  sho. 
Gor-a-mighty!  ain't  I  glad  ye  ain't  daid.  Marse 
George  say  on'y  yisterday  you  was  either  daid  or  sick 
dat  ye  didn't  write  an' " 

"Said  yesterday!     Why,  is  he  at  home?" 

"Home!  Lemme  throw  a  blanket  over  dis  hoss 
and  tie  him  tell  we  come  back.  Oh,  we  had  a  heap  o' 
mis'ry  since  ye  went  away — a  heap  o'  trouble.  Nothin' 
but  trouble!  You  come  'long  wid  me — 'tain't  far; 
des  around  de  corner.  I'll  show  ye  sompin'  make  ye 

402 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

creep  all  over.  An'  it  ain't  gettin'  no  better — gettin' 
wuss.  Dis  way,  Marse  Harry.  You  been  'cross  de  big 
water,  ain't  ye?  Dat's  what  I  beared.  Aunt  Jemima 
been  mighty  good,  but  we  can't  go  on  dis  way  much 
longer." 

Still  talking,  forging  ahead  in  the  darkness  through 
the  narrow  street  choked  with  horseless  drays,  Todd 
swung  into  a  dingy  yard,  mounted  a  flight  of  rickety 
wooden  steps,  and  halted  at  an  unpainted  door. 
Turning  the  knob  softly  he  beckoned  silently  to  Harry, 
and  the  two  stepped  into  a  small  room  lighted  by  a 
low  lamp  placed  on  the  hearth,  its  rays  falling  on  a 
cot  bed  and  a  few  chairs.  Beside  a  cheap  pine  table 
sat  Aunt  Jemima,  rocking  noiselessly.  The  old  woman 
raised  her  hand  in  warning  and  put  her  fingers  to  her 
lips. 

On  the  bed,  with  the  coverlet  drawn  close  under  his 
chin,  lay  his  Uncle  George! 


403 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

Harry  looked  about  the  room  in  a  bewildered  way 
and  then  tiptoed  to  St.  George's  bed.  It  had  been  a 
day  of  surprises,  but  this  last  had  completely  upset 
him.  St.  George  dependent  on  the  charity  of  his  old 
cook  and  without  other  attendant  than  Todd!  Why 
had  he  been  deserted  by  everybody  who  loved  him? 
Why  was  he  not  at  Wesley  or  Craddock?  Why 
should  he  be  here  of  all  places  in  the  world  ? 

All  these  thoughts  surged  through  his  mind  as  he 
stood  above  the  patient  and  watched  his  slow,  labored 
breathing.  That  he  had  been  ill  for  some  time  was  evi 
dent  in  his  emaciated  face  and  the  deep  hollows  into 
which  his  closed  eyes  were  sunken. 

Aunt  Jemima  rose  and  handed  the  intruder  her 
chair.  He  sat  down  noiselessly  beside  him.  Once 
his  uncle  coughed,  and  in  the  effort  drew  the  coverlet 
close  about  his  throat,  his  eyes  still  shut;  but  whether 
from  weakness  or  drowsiness,  Harry  could  not  tell. 
Presently  he  shifted  his  body,  and  moving  his  head  on 
the  pillow,  called  softly: 

"Jemima?" 

The  old  woman  bent  over  him. 

"Yes,  Marse  George." 

"  Give  me  a  little  milk — my  throat  troubles  me." 
404 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Harry  drew  back  into  the  shadow  cast  over  one  end 
of  the  cot  and  rear  wall  by  the  low  lamp  on  the  hearth. 
Whether  to  slip  his  hand  gently  over  his  uncle's  and 
declare  himself,  or  whether  to  wait  until  he  dozed 
.igain  and  return  in  the  morning,  when  he  would  be 
less  tired  and  could  better  withstand  the  shock  of  the 
meeting,  was  the  question  which  disturbed  him.  And 
yet  he  could  not  leave  until  he  satisfied  himself  of 
just  what  ought  to  be  done.  If  he  left  him  at  all  it 
must  be  for  help  of  some  kind.  He  leaned  over  and 
whispered  in  Jemima's  ear: 

"Has  he  had  a  doctor?" 

Jemima  shook  her  head.  "He  wouldn't  hab  none; 
he  ain't  been  clean  beat  out  till  day  befo'  yisterday, 
an'  den  I  got  skeered  an' — "  She  stopped,  leaned 
closer,  clapped  her  hand  over  her  mouth  to  keep  from 
screaming,  and  staggered  back  to  her  chair. 

St.  George  raised  his  head  from  the  pillow  and 
stared  into  the  shadows. 

"  Who  is  talking  ?  I  heard  somebody  speak  ?  Je 
mima — you  haven't  disobeyed  me,  have  you?" 

Harry  stepped  noiselessly  to  the  bedside  and  laid 
his  fingers  on  the  sick  man's  wrist: 

"Uncle  George,"  he  said  gently. 

Temple  lowered  his  head  as  if  to  focus  his  gaze. 

"Yes,  there  is  some  one!"  he  cried  in  a  stronger 
voice.  "Who  are  you,  sir? — not  a  doctor,  are  you? 
I  didn't  send  for  you! — I  don't  want  any  doctor, 
I  told  my  servant  so.  Jemima! — Todd! — why  do 

you " 

405 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Harry  tightened  his  grasp  on  the  emaciated  wrist. 
"No,  Uncle  George,  it's  Harry!  I'm  just  back." 

"What  did  he  say,  Todd?  Harry!— Harry!  Did 
he  say  he  was  Harry,  or  am  I  losing  my  mind  ?" 

In  his  eagerness  to  understand  he  lifted  himself  to 
a  sitting  posture,  his  eyes  wandering  uneasily  over  the 
speaker's  body,  resting  on  his  head — on  his  shoulders, 
arms,  and  hands — as  if  trying  to  fix  his  mind  on  some 
thing  which  constantly  baffled  him. 

Harry  continued  to  pat  his  wrist  soothingly. 

"Yes,  it's  Harry,  Uncle  George,"  he  answered. 
"But  don't  talk— lie  down.  I'm  all  right— I  got 
in  yesterday  and  have  been  looking  for  you  every 
where.  Pawson  told  me  you  were  at  Wesley.  I 
found  Todd  a  few  minutes  ago  by  the  merest  acci 
dent,  and  he  brought  me  here.  No,  you  must  lie 
down — let  me  help  — rest  yourself  on  me — so."  He 
was  as  tender  with  him  as  if  he  had  been  his  own 
mother. 

The  sick  man  shook  himself  free — he  was  stronger 
than  Harry  thought.  He  was  convinced  now  that 
there  was  some  trick  being  played  upon  him — one 
Jemima  in  her  anxiety  had  devised. 

"  How  dare  you,  sir,  lie  to  me  like  that!  Who  asked 
you  to  come  here?  Todd — send  this  fellow  from  the 
room!" 

Harry  drew  back  out  of  his  uncle's  vision  and  care 
fully  watched  the  invalid.  St.  George's  mind  was 
evidently  unhinged  and  it  would  be  better  not  to 
thwart  him. 

406 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Todd  crept  up.  He  had  seen  his  master  like  this 
once  before  and  had  had  all  he  could  do  to  keep  him 
in  bed. 

"Dat  ain't  no  doctor,  Marse  George,"  he  pleaded, 
his  voice  trembling.  "  Dat's  Marse  Harry  come  back 
agin  alive.  It's  de  hair  on  his  face  make  him  look 
dat  way;  dat  fool  me  too.  It's  Marse  Harry,  fo'  sho' 
— I  fotch  him  yere  myse'f.  He's  jes'  come  from  de 
big  ship." 

St.  George  twisted  his  head,  looked  long  and  ear 
nestly  into  Harry's  face,  and  with  a  sudden  cry  of 
joy  stretched  out  his  hand  and  motioned  him  nearer. 
Harry  sank  to  his  knees  beside  the  bed.  St.  George 
curved  one  arm  about  his  neck,  drew  him  tightly  to 
his  breast  as  he  would  a  woman,  and  fell  back  upon 
the  pillow  with  Harry's  head  next  his  own.  There  the 
two  lay  still,  St.  George's  eyes  half  closed,  thick  sobs 
stifling  his  utterance,  the  tears  streaming  down  his  pale 
cheeks;  his  thin  white  fingers  caressing  the  brown  hair 
of  the  boy  he  loved.  At  last,  with  a  heavy,  indrawn 
sigh,  not  of  grief,  but  of  joy,  he  muttered: 

"It's  true,  isn't  it,  my  son?" 

Harry  hugged  him  the  tighter  in  answer. 

"And  you  are  home  for  good?" 

Again  the  pressure.  "Yes,  but  don't  talk,  you 
must  go  to  sleep.  I  won't  leave  you."  His  own  tears 
were  choking  him  now. 

Then,  after  a  long  pause,  releasing  his  grasp:  "I 
did  not  know  how  weak  I  was.  .  .  .  Maybe  I  had 
better  not  talk.  .  .  .  Don't  stay.  Come  to- 

407 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

morrow  and  tell  me  about  it.  ...  There  is  no  bed 
for  you  here  ...  I  am  sorry  .  .  .  but  you  must  go 
away — you  couldn't  be  comfortable.  .  .  .  Todd " 

The  darky  started  forward — both  he  and  Aunt 
Jemima  were  crying: 

"Yes,  Marse  George." 

"Take  the  lamp  and  light  Mr.  Rutter  downstairs. 
To-morrow — to-morrow,  Harry.  .  .  .  My  God — 
think  of  it! — Harry  home!  Harry  home!  My  Harry 
home!"  and  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall. 

On  the  way  back — first  to  the  stable,  where  he 
found  that  the  horse  had  been  properly  cared  for  and 
his  bill  ready  and  then  to  his  lodgings, — Todd  told  him 
the  story  of  what  had  happened:  At  first  his  master 
had  firmly  intended  going  to  the  Eastern  Shore — and 
for  a  long  stay — for  he  had  ordered  his  own  and  Todd's 
trunks  packed  with  everything  they  both  owned  in 
the  way  of  clothes.  On  the  next  day,  however — 
the  day  before  the  boat  leftj — Mr.  Temple  had  made 
a  visit  to  Jemima  to  bid  her  good-by,  where  he  learned 
that  her  white  lodger  had  decamped  between  suns, 
leaving  two  months  board  unpaid.  In  the  effort  to 
find  this  man,  or  compel  his  employer  to  pay  his  bill, 
out  of  some  wages  still  due  him — in  both  of  which  he 
failed — his  master  had  missed  the  boat  and  they  were 
obliged  to  wait  another  week.  During  this  interim, 
not  wishing  to  return  to  Pawson,  and  being  as  he  said 
very  comfortable  where  he  was  with  his  two  servants 
to  wait  upon  him,  and  the  place  as  clean  as  a  pin — 
his  master  had  moved  his  own  and  Todd's  trunk  from 

408 


With  a  sudden  cry  of  joy  stretched  out  his  hand  and  motioned 
him  nearer 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

the  steamboat  warehouse  where  they  had  been  stored 
and  had  had  them  brought  to  Jemima's.  Two  days 
later — whether  from  exposure  in  tramping  the  streets 
in  his  efforts  to  collect  the  old  woman's  bill,  or  whether 
the  change  of  lodgings  had  affected  him — he  was 
taken  down  with  a  chill  and  had  been  in  bed  ever  since. 
With  this  situation  staring  both  Jemima  and  himself 
in  the  face — for  neither  she  nor  Mr.  Temple  had  much 
money  left — Todd  had  appealed  to  Gadgem — (he 
being  the  only  man  in  his  experience  who  could  always 
produce  a  roll  of  bills  when  everybody  else  failed) — 
who  took  him  to  the  stableman  whose  accounts  he  col 
lected — and  who  had  once  bought  one  of  St.  George's 
saddles — and  who  then  and  there  hired  Todd  as  night 
attendant.  His  wages,  added  to  what  Jemima  could 
earn  over  her  tubs,  had  kept  the  three  alive.  All  this 
had  taken  place  four  weeks  or  more  ago. 

None  of  all  this,  he  assured  Harry,  had  he  told 
Gadgem  or  anybody  else,  his  master's  positive  direc 
tions  being  to  keep  his  abode  and  his  condition  a 
secret  from  everybody.  All  the  collector  knew  was 
that  Mr.  Temple  being  too  poor  to  take  Todd  with 
him,  had  left  him  behind  to  shift  for  himself  until  he 
could  send  for  him.  All  the  neighborhood  knew,  to 
quote  Todd's  own  hilarious  chuckle,  was  that  "Miss 
Jemima  Johnsing  had  two  mo'  boa'ders;  one  a  sick  man 
dat  had  los'  his  job  an*  de  udder  a  yaller  nigger  who 
sot  up  nights  watchin'  de  hosses  eat  dere  haids  off." 

Since  that  time  his  master  had  had  various  ups  and 
downs,  but  although  he  was  still  weak  he  was  very 

409 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

much  stronger  than  he  had  been  any  time  since  he  had 
taken  to  his  bed.  Only  once  had  he  been  delirious; 
then  he  talked  ramblingly  about  Miss  Kate  and  Marse 
Harry.  This  had  so  scared  Aunt  Jemima  that  she  had 
determined  to  go  to  Mammy  Henny  and  have  her 
tell  Miss  Kate,  so  he  could  get  a  doctor — something 
he  had  positively  forbidden  her  to  do,  but  he  grew 
so  much  better  the  next  day  that  she  had  given  it  up; 
since  that  time  his  mind  had  not  again  given  way. 
All  he  wanted  now,  so  Todd  concluded,  was  a  good 
soup  and  "a  drap  o'  sumpin  warmin' — an'  he'd  pull 
thu'.  But  dere  warn't  no  use  tryin'  ter  git  him  to 
take  it  'cause  all  he  would  eat  was  taters  an'  corn  pone 
an*  milk — an*  sich  like,  'cause  he  said  dere  warn't 
money  'nough  fer  de  three — "  whereupon  Todd  turned 
his  head  away  and  caught  his  breath,  and  then  tried 
to  pass  it  off  as  an  unbidden  choke — none  of  which 
subterfuges  deceived  Harry  in  the  least. 

When  the  two  arrived  off  the  dimly  burning  lantern 
—it  was  past  ten  o'clock — and  pushed  in  the  door  of 
the  Sailors'  House,  Todd  received  another  shock — one 
that  sent  his  eyes  bulging  from  his  head.  That  Marse 
Harry  Rutter,  who  was  always  a  law  unto  himself, 
should  grow  a  beard  and  wear  rough  clothes,  was  to  be 
expected — "  Dem  Rutters  was  allus  dat  way — do  jes's 
dey  mineter — "  but  that  the  most  elegant  young  man 
of  his  day  "ob  de  fustest  quality,"  should  take  up 
his  quarters  in  a  low  sailors'  retreat,  and  be  looked 
upon  by  the  men  gathered  under  the  swinging  lamp 
around  a  card  table — (some  of  whom  greeted  Harry 

410 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

familiarly) — as  one  of  their  own  kind,  completely 
staggered  him, 

The  pedler  was  particularly  gracious — so  much  so 
that  when  he  learned  that  Harry  was  leaving  for  good, 
and  had  come  to  get  his  belongings — he  jumped  up 
and  insisted  on  helping — at  which  Harry  laughed  and 
assented,  and  as  a  further  mark  of  his  appreciation 
presented  him  with  the  now  useless  silks,  in  addition  to 
the  money  he  gave  him — an  act  of  generosity  which 
formed  the  sole  topic  of  conversation  in  the  resort  for 
weeks  thereafter. 

Board  and  lodging  paid,  the  procession  took  up  its 
return  march:  Harry  in  front,  Todd,  still  dazed  and 
still  at  sea  as  to  the  meaning  of  it  all,  following  be 
hind;  the  pedler  between  with  Harry's  heavy  coat, 
blankets,  etc. — all  purchased  since  his  shipwreck — the 
party  threading  the  choked-up  street  until  they  reached 
the  dingy  yard,  where  the  pedler  dumped  his  pack 
and  withdrew,  while  the  darky  stowed  his  load  in  the 
basement.  This  done,  the  two  tiptoed  once  more  up 
the  stairs  to  where  Aunt  Jemima  awaited  them,  St. 
George  having  fallen  asleep. 

Beckoning  the  old  woman  away  from  the  bedroom 
door  and  into  the  far  corner  of  the  small  hall,  Harry 
unfolded  to  her  as  much  of  his  plans  for  the  next  day 
as  he  thought  she  ought  to  know.  Early  in  the  morn 
ing — before  his  uncle  was  astir — he  would  betake 
himself  to  Kennedy  Square;  ascertain  from  Pawson 
whether  his  uncle's  rooms  were  still  unoccupied,  and 
if  such  were  the  case — and  St.  George  be  unable  to 

411 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

walk — would  pick  him  up  bodily,  wrap  him  in  blankets, 
carry  him  in  his  own  arms  downstairs,  place  him  in  a 
carriage,  and  drive  him  to  his  former  home  where  he 
would  again  pick  him  up  and  lay  him  in  his  own  bed: 
This  would  be  better  than  a  hundred  doctors — he  had 
tried  it  himself  when  he  was  down  with  fever  and 
knew.  Aunt  Jemima  was  to  go  ahead  and  see  that 
these  preparations  were  carried  out.  Should  Alec  be 
able  to  bring  his  mother  to  Kennedy  Square  in  the 
morning,  as  he  had  instructed  him  to  do,  then  there 
would  indeed  be  somebody  on  hand  who  could  nurse 
him  even  better  than  Jemima;  should  his  mother  not 
be  there,  Jemima  would  take  her  place.  Nothing  of 
all  this,  he  charged  her,  was  to  be  told  St.  George  until 
the  hour  of  departure.  To  dwell  upon  the  intended 
move  might  overexcite  him.  Then,  when  everything 
was  ready — his  linen,  etc.,  arranged — (Jemima  was 
also  to  look  after  this) — he  would  whisk  him  off  and 
make  him  comfortable  in  his  own  bed.  He  would, 
of  course,  now  that  his  uncle  wished  it,  keep  secret 
his  retreat;  although  why  St.  George  Wilmot  Temple, 
Esq.,  or  any  other  gentleman  of  his  standing,  should 
object  to  being  taken  care  of  by  his  own  servants  was 
a  thing  he  could  not  understand:  Pawson,  of  course, 
need  not  know — nor  should  any  outside  person — not 
even  Gadgem  if  he  came  nosing  around.  To  these 
he  would  merely  say  that  Mr.  Temple  had  seen  fit  to 
leave  home  and  that  Mr.  Temple  had  seen  fit  to  re 
turn  again:  that  was  quite  enough  for  attorneys  and 
collectors.  To  all  the  others  he  would  keep  his  coun- 

412 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

sel,  until  St.  George  himself  made  confession,  which 
he  was  pretty  sure  he  would  do  at  the  first  oppor 
tunity. 

This  decided  upon  he  bade  Jemima  good-night, 
gave  her  explicit  directions  to  call  him,  should  his 
uncle  awake  (her  own  room  opened  out  of  St.  George's) 
spread  his  blanket  in  the  cramped  hall  outside  the 
sick  man's  door — he  had  not  roughed  it  on  shipboard 
and  in  the  wilderness  all  these  years  without  knowing 
something  of  the  soft  side  of  a  plank — and  throwing 
his  heavy  ship's  coat  over  him  fell  fast  asleep. 


413 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

When  the  first  glimmer  of  the  gray  dawn  stole 
through  the  small  window  at  the  end  of  the  narrow 
hall,  and  laid  its  chilled  fingers  on  Harry's  upturned 
face,  it  found  him  still  asleep.  His  ride  to  Moorlands 
and  back — his  muscles  unused  for  months  to  the  exer 
cise — had  tired  him.  The  trials  of  the  day,  too,  those 
with  his  father  and  his  Uncle  George,  had  tired  him 
the  more — and  so  he  had  slept  on  as  a  child  sleeps — 
as  a  perfectly  healthy  man  sleeps — both  mind  and 
body  drinking  in  the  ozone  of  a  new  courage  and  a 
new  hope. 

With  the  first  ray  of  the  joyous  sun  riding  full  tilt 
across  his  face,  he  opened  his  eyes,  threw  off  the  cloak, 
and  sprang  to  his  feet.  For  an  instant  he  looked  won- 
deringly  about  as  if  in  doubt  whether  to  call  the  watch 
or  begin  the  hunt  for  his  cattle.  Then  the  pine  door 
caught  his  eye  and  the  low,  measured  breathing  of  his 
uncle  fell  upon  his  ear,  and  with  a  quick  lift  of  his 
arms,  his  strong  hands  thumping  his  broad  chest,  he 
stretched  himself  to  his  full  height:  he  had  work  to 
do,  and  he  must  begin  at  once. 

Aunt  Jemima  was  already  at  her  duties.  She  had 
tiptoed  past  his  sleeping  body  an  hour  before,  and 
after  listening  to  St.  George's  breathing  had  plunged 
into  her  tubs;  the  cat's  cradle  in  the  dingy  court-yard 

414 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

being  already  gay  with  various  colored  fragments,  in 
cluding  Harry's  red  flannel  shirts  which  Todd  had 
found  in  a  paper  parcel,  and  which  the  old  woman 
had  pounced  upon  at  sight.  She  insisted  on  making 
him  a  cup  of  coffee,  but  he  had  no  time  for  such  lux 
uries.  He  would  keep  on,  he  said,  to  Kennedy  Square, 
find  Pawson,  ascertain  if  St.  George's  old  rooms  were 
still  unoccupied;  notify  him  of  Mr.  Temple's  return; 
have  his  bed  made  and  fires  properly  lighted;  stop  at 
the  livery  stable,  wake  up  Todd,  if  that  darky  had 
overslept  himself — quite  natural  when  he  had  been  up 
almost  all  night — engage  a  carriage  to  be  at  Jemima's 
at  four  o'clock,  and  then  return  to  get  everything  ready 
for  the  picking-up-and-carrying-downstairs  process. 

And  all  this  he  did  do;  and  all  this  he  told  Jemima 
he  had  done  when  he  swung  into  the  court-yard  an 
liour  later,  a  spring  to  his  heels  and  a  cheery  note  in 
his  voice  that  had  not  been  his  for  years.  The  re 
action  that  hope  brings  to  youth  had  set  in.  He  was 
alive  and  at  home;  his  Uncle  George  was  where  he 
could  get  his  hands  on  him — in  a  minute — by  the 
mounting  of  the  stairs ;  and  Alec  and  his  mother  within 
reach ! 

And  the  same  glad  song  was  in  his  heart  when  he 
opened  his  uncle's  door  after  he  had  swallowed  his 
coffee — Jemima  had  it  ready  for  him  this  time — and 
thrusting  in  his  head  cried  out: 

"  We  are  going  to  get  you  out  of  here,  Uncle  George ! " 
This  with  a  laugh — one  of  his  old  contagious  laughs 
that  was  music  in  the  sick  man's  ears. 

415 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"When?"  asked  the  invalid,  his  face  radiant.  He 
had  been  awake  an  hour  wondering  what  it  all  meant. 
He  had  even  thought  of  calling  to  Jemima  to  reassure 
himself  that  it  was  not  a  dream,  until  he  heard  her 
over  her  tubs  and  refrained  from  disturbing  her. 

"  Oh,  pretty  soon !  I  have  just  come  from  Pawson's. 
Fogbin  hasn't  put  in  an  appearance  and  there's  no 
body  in  the  rooms  and  hasn't  been  anybody  there 
since  you  left.  He  can't  understand  it,  nor  can  I 
— and  I  don't  want  to.  I  have  ordered  the  bed  made 
and  a  fire  started  in  both  the  chamber  and  the  old 
dining-room,  and  if  anybody  objects  he  has  got  to  say 
so  to  me,  and  I  am  a  very  uncomfortable  person  to 
say  some  kinds  of  things  to  nowadays.  So  up  you 
get  when  the  time  comes;  and  Todd  and  Jemima 
are  to  go  too.  I've  got  money  enough,  anyhow,  to 
begin  on.  Aunt  Jemima  says  you  had  a  good  night 
and  it  won't  be  long  now  before  you  are  yourself 
again." 

The  radiant  smile  on  the  sick  man's  face  blossomed 
into  a  laugh:  "Yes — the  best  night  that  I  have  had 
since  I  was  taken  ill,  and —  Where  did  you  sleep, 
my  son?" 

"Me! —  Oh,  I  had  a  fine  time — long,  well-ven 
tilated  room  with  two  windows  and  private  staircase; 
nice  pine  bedstead — very  comfortable  place  for  this 
part  of  the  town." 

St.  George  looked  at  him  and  his  eyes  filled.  His 
mind  was  neither  on  his  own  questions  nor  on  Harry's 
answers. 

416 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  Get  a  chair,  Harry,  and  sit  by  me  so  I  can  look  at 
you  closer.  How  fine  and  strong  you  are  my  son — 
not  like  your  father — you're  like  your  mother.  And 
you've  broadened  out — mentally  as  well  as  physically. 
Pretty  hard  I  tell  you  to  spoil  a  gentleman — more 
difficult  still  to  spoil  a  Rutter.  But  you  must  get  that 
beard  off — it  isn't  becoming  to  you,  and  then  somebody 
might  think  you  disguised  yourself  on  purpose.  I 
didn't  know  you  at  first,  neither  did  Jemima — and 
you  don't  want  anybody  else  to  make  that  kind  of  a 
mistake." 

"My  father  did,  yesterday — "  Harry  rejoined 
quietly,  dropping  into  Jemima's  chair. 

St.  George  half  raised  himself  from  his  bed:  "You 
have  seen  him?" 

"Yes — and  I  wish  I  hadn't.  But  I  hunted  every 
where  for  you  and  then  got  a  horse  and  rode  out  home. 
He  didn't  know  me — that  is,  I'm  pretty  sure  he  didn't 
— but  he  cursed  me  all  the  same.  My  mother  and  old 
Alec,  I  hope,  will  come  in  to-day — but  father's  chap 
ter  is  closed  forever.  I  have  been  a  fool  to  hope  for 
anything  else." 

"Drove  you  out!  Oh,  no — no!  Harry!  Impossi 
ble!" 

"  But  he  did — "  and  then  followed  an  account  of  all 
the  wanderer  had  passed  through  from  the  time  he 
had  set  foot  on  shore  to  the  moment  of  meeting  Todd 
and  himself. 

For  some  minutes  St.  George  lay  staring  at  the  ceil 
ing.  It  was  all  a  horrid  nightmare  to  him.  Talbot 

417 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

deserved  nothing  but  contempt  and  he  would  get  it  so 
far  as  he  was  concerned.  He  agreed  with  Harry  that 
all  reconciliation  was  now  a  thing  of  the  past;  the  only 
solution  possible  was  that  Talbot  was  out  of  his  senses 
—the  affair  having  undermined  his  reason.  He  had 
heard  of  such  cases  and  had  doubted  them — he  was 
convinced  now  that  they  could  be  true.  His  answer, 
therefore,  to  Harry's  next  question — one  about  his 
lost  sweetheart — was  given  with  a  certain  hesitation. 
As  long  as  the  memory  of  Rutter's  curses  rankled 
within  him  all  reference  to  Kate's  affairs — even  the 
little  he  knew  himself — must  be  made  with  some  cir 
cumspection.  There  was  no  hope  in  that  direction 
either,  but  he  did  not  want  to  tell  him  so  outright;  nor 
did  he  want  to  dwell  too  long  upon  the  subject. 

"  And  I  suppose  Kate  is  married  by  this  time,  Uncle 
George,"  Harry  said  at  last  in  a  casual  tone,  "is  she 
not?"  (He  had  been  leading  up  to  it  rather  skilfully, 
but  there  had  been  no  doubt  in  his  uncle's  mind  as  to 
his  intention.)  "I  saw  the  house  lighted  up,  night  be 
fore  last  when  I  passed,  and  a  lot  of  people  about,  so 
I  thought  it  might  be  either  the  wedding  or  the  recep 
tion."  The  question  had  left  his  lips  as  one  shoots 
an  arrow  in  the  dark — hit  or  miss — as  if  he  did  not 
care  which.  He  too  realized  that  this  was  no  time 
to  open  wounds,  certainly  not  in  his  uncle's  heart; 
and  yet  he  could  wait  no  longer. 

"No — I  don't  think  the  wedding  has  taken  place," 
St.  George  replied  vaguely.  "The  servants  would 
know  if  it  had — they  know  everything — and  Aunt 

418 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Jemima  would  be  the  first  to  have  told  me.  The  house 
being  lighted  up  is  no  evidence.  They  have  been 
giving  a  series  of  entertainments  this  winter  and  there 
were  more  to  come  when  I  last  saw  Kate,  which  was 
one  night  at  Richard  Horn's.  But  let  us  close  that 
chapter  too,  my  boy.  You  and  I  will  take  a  new 
lease  of  life  from  nov;  on.  You  have  already  put  fresh 
blood  into  my  veins — I  haven't  felt  so  well  for  weeks. 
Now  tell  me  about  yourself.  Your  last  letter  reached 
me  six  months  ago,  if  I  remember  right.  You  were 
then  in  Rio  and  were  going  up  into  the  mountains. 
Did  you  go?" 

"Yes — up  into  the  Rio  Abaste  country  where  they 
had  discovered  diamonds  as  big  as  hens'  eggs — one 
had  been  sold  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars 
— and  everybody  was  crazy.  I  didn't  find  any  dia 
monds  nor  anything  else  but  starvation,  so  I  herded 
cattle,  that  being  the  only  thing  I  knew  anything 
about — how  to  ride — and  slept  out  on  the  lowlands 
sometimes  under  a  native  mat  and  sometimes  under 
the  kindly  stars.  Then  we  had  a  revolution  and  cattle 
raids,  and  one  night  I  came  pretty  near  being  chewed 
up  by  a  puma — and  so  it  wrent.  I  made  a  little  money 
in  rawhides  after  I  got  to  know  the  natives,  and  I'm 
going  back  to  make  some  more;  and  you  are  going 
with  me  when  we  get  things  straightened  out.  I 
wouldn't  have  come  home  except  that  I  heard  you  had 
been  turned  out  neck  and  crop  from  Kennedy  Square. 
One  of  Mr.  Seymour's  clerks  stopped  in  Rio  on  his 
way  to  the  River  Plate  and  did  some  business  with  an 

419 


KENNEDY  SQUAI. 

agent  whom  I  met  afterward  at  a  hacienda, 
and  who  told  me  about  you  when  he  learned  I  was 
from  Kennedy  Square.  And  when  I  think  of  it  all, 
Unde  Geotge,  and  what  you  have  suffered  on  account 
of  me!"—  Hen?  his  voice  falteitxl.  "No!— I  won't 
talk  about  it — I  can't  I  have  spent  too  many  sleep- 
lot  nights  over  it:  I  have  been  hungry  and  half  dead, 
but  I  have  kept  on — and  I  am  not  through:  I'll 
pull  out  yet  and  put  you  on  your  feet  once  more  if 
I  live!"  ' 

SL George  laid  his  hand  tenderly  on  the  young  man's 
He  knew  how  the  boy  felt  about  it  That  was 
off  die  things  he  loved  him  for. 
"And  so  you  started  home  when  you  heard  it,"  he 
went  on, clearing  his  throat  "That  was  just  like  you, 
JOB  dear  fellow !  And  you  haven't  come  home  an  hour 
too  soon.  I  should  have  been  measured  for  a  pine 
in  another  week."  The  choke  was  quite  in  cvi- 
m.  *You  see,  I  really  couldn't  go  to  Coston's 
I  thought  it  all  over.  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
to  go  for  a  week  or  so  until  I  saw  this  place,  and  then 
I  determined  I  would  stop  with  Jemima.  I  could  eke 
out  an  evidence  here  on  what  I  had  left  and  still  feel 
like  a  gentleman,  but  I  couldn't  settle  down  on  dear 
Peggy  Coston  and  be  anything  but  a  poltroon.  As  to 
my  making  a  living  at  the  law — that  was  pure  moon 
shine,  I  haven't  opened  a  law  book  for  twenty  years 
and  now  it's  too  late.  People  of  our  class" — here  he 
looked  »••!  from  his  companion  and  talked  straight 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed — "People  of  our  class  my  boy/* 

420 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

he  repeated  slowly — "when  they  reach  the  neck  and 
crop  period  you  spoke  of,  are  at  the  end  of  their  rope. 
There  are  then  but  two  things  left — either  to  become 
the  inmate  of  a  poorhouse  or  to  become  a  sponge.  I 
prefer  this  bare  room  as  a  happy  medium,  and  I  am 
content  to  stay  where  I  am  as  long  as  we  three  can 
keep  body  and  soul  together.  There  is — so  Pawson 
told  me  before  I  left  my  house — a  little  money  com 
ing  in  from  a  ground  rent — a  few  months  off,  perhaps, 
but  more  than  enough  to  pay  Todd  back — he  gives 
Jemima  every  cent  of  his  wages — and  when  this  does 
come  in  and  I  can  get  out  once  more,  Fm  going  to 
order  my  life  so  I  can  make  a  respectable  showing 
of  some  kind." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  fastened  his  gaze  again 
on  Harry,  and  continued: 

"As  to  my  going  back  to  Pawson's,  I  am  not  al 
together  sure  that  that  is  the  wisest  thing  to  do.  I 
may  have  to  leave  again  as  soon  as  I  get  comfortably 
settled  in  my  bed.  I  turned  out  at  his  bidding  before 
and  may  have  to  turn  again  when  he  says  the  word. 
So  don't  kindle  too  many  fires  with  Pawson's  wood 
— I  hadn't  a  log  to  my  name  when  I  left — or  it  may 
warm  somebody's  else's  shins  besides  mine,"  and  a 
merry  twinkle  shone  in  his  eyes. 

Harry  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Wood  or  no  wood,  Uncle  George,  I'm  going  to  be 
landlord  now — Pawson  can  move  out  and  graze  his 
cattle  somewhere  else.  I'm  going  to  take  charge  of  the 
hut  and  stock  and  the  pack  mules  and  provisions — 

421 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

and  with  a  gun,  if  necessary — "  and  he  levelled  an 
imaginary  fowling-piece  with  a  boyish  gesture. 

"  Don't  you  try  to  move  anybody  without  an  order 
of  the  court!"  cried  St.  George,  joining  in  the  merri 
ment.  ("What  a  boy  he  is!"  he  thought  to  himself.) 
"With  that  mortgage  hanging  over  everything  and 
Gorsuch  and  your  father  cudgelling  their  brains  to 
foreclose  it,  you  won't  have  a  ghost  of  a  chance. 
Come  to  think  of  it,  however,  I  might  help — for  a 
few  weeks'  expenses,  at  least.  How  would  this  do  ?  " 
Here  he  had  all  he  could  do  to  straighten  his  face: 
"'Attention  now — Hats  off  in  the  court-room.  For 
sale  or  hire!  Immediate  delivery.  One  first-class 
gentleman,  in  reasonable  repair.  Could  be  made 
useful  in  opening  and  shutting  doors,  or  in  dancing  at 
tendance  upon  children  under  one  year  of  age,  or  in 
keeping  flies  from  bedridden  folk.  Apply,  and  so  forth/ 
Gadgem  could  fix  it.  He  has  done  the  most  marvel 
lous  things  in  the  last  year  or  two — extraordinary, 
really!  AskTodd  about  it  some  time — he'll  tell  you." 

They  were  both  roaring  with  laughter,  St.  George 
so  buoyed  up  by  the  contagious  spirit  of  the  young 
fellow  that  he  insisted  on  getting  out  of  bed  and  sit 
ting  in  Aunt  Jemima's  rocking  chair  with  a  blanket 
across  his  knees. 

All  the  morning  did  this  happy  talk  go  on: — the 
joyous  unconfined  talk  of  two  men  who  had  hungered 
and  thirsted  for  each  other  through  weary  bitter  days 
and  nights,  and  whose  coming  toge  her  was  like  the 
mingling  of  two  streams  long  kept  apart,  and  now 

422 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

one  great  river  flowing  to  a  common  outlet  and  a  com 
mon  good. 

And  not  only  did  their  talk  cover  the  whole  range 
of  Harry 's  experiences  from  the  time  he  left  the  ship  for 
his  sojourn  in  the  hill  country  and  the  mountains  be 
yond,  and  all  of  St.  George's  haps  and  mishaps,  with 
every  single  transaction  of  Gadgem  and  Pawson — 
loving  cup,  dogs  and  all — but  when  their  own  personal 
news  was  exhausted  they  both  fell  back  on  their  friends, 
such  as  Richard  Horn  and  old  Judge  Pancoast;  when 
he  had  seen  Mr.  Kennedy  and  Mr.  Latrobe — yes,  and 
what  of  Mr.  Poe — had  he  written  any  more? — and 
were  his  habits  any  better? — etc.,  etc. 

"I  have  seen  Mr.  Poe  several  times  since  that  un 
fortunate  dinner,  Harry;  the  last  time  when  he  was 
good  enough  to  call  upon  me  on  his  way  to  Richmond. 
He  was  then  particularly  himself.  You  would  not 
have  known  him — grave,  dignified,  perfectly  dressed 
— charming,  delightful.  He  came  in  quite  late — in 
deed  I  was  going  to  bed  when  I  heard  his  knock  and, 
Todd  being  out,  I  opened  the  door  myself.  There 
was  some  of  that  Black  Warrior  left,  and  I  brought 
out  the  decanter,  but  he  shook  his  head  courteously 
and  continued  his  talk.  He  asked  after  you.  Won 
derful  man,  Harry — a  man  you  never  forget  once  you 
know  him." 

St.  George  dragged  the  pine  table  nearer  his  chair 
and  moistened  his  lips  with  the  glass  of  milk  which 
Jemima  had  set  beside  him.  Then  he  went  on: 

'  You  remember  Judge  Giles,  do  you  not  ?  Lives 
423 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

here  on  St.  Paul  Street — yes — of  course  you  do — for 
he  is  a  great  friend  of  your  father's  and  you  must  have 
met  him  repeatedly  at  Moorlands.  Well,  one  day  at 
the  club  he  told  me  the  most  extraordinary  story 
about  Mr.  Poe — this  was  some  time  after  you'd  gone. 
It  seems  that  the  judge  was  at  work  in  his  study  late  one 
snowy  night  when  his  doorbell  sounded.  Outside 
stood  a  man  with  his  coat  buttoned  close  about  his 
throat — evidently  a  gentleman — who  asked  him  po 
litely  for  a  sheet  of  paper  and  a  pen.  You  know  the 
judge,  and  how  kind  and  considerate  he  is.  Well,  of 
course  he  asked  him  in,  drew  out  a  chair  at  his  desk 
and  stepped  into  the  next  room  to  leave  him  undis 
turbed.  After  a  time,  not  hearing  him  move,  he 
looked  in  and  to  his  surprise  the  stranger  had  disap 
peared.  On  the  desk  lay  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which 
was  written  three  verses  of  a  poem.  It  was  his 
'  Bells/  The  judge  has  had  them  framed,  so  I  hear. 
There  was  enough  snow  on  the  ground  to  bring  out  the 
cutters,  and  Poe  had  the  rhythm  of  the  bells  ringing 
in  his  head  and  being  afraid  he  would  forget  it  he 
pulled  the  judge's  doorbell.  I  wish  he'd  rung  mine. 
I  must  get  the  poem  for  you,  Harry — it's  as  famous 
now  as  'The  Raven.'  Richard,  I  hear,  reads  it  so 
that  you  can  distinguish  the  sound  of  each  bell." 

"  Well,  he  taught  me  a  lesson,"  said  Harry,  tucking 
the  blanket  close  around  his  uncle's  knees — "one  I 
have  never  forgotten,  and  never  will.  He  sent  me  to 
bed  a  wreck,  I  remember,  but  I  got  up  the  next  morning 
with  a  new  mast  in  me  and  all  my  pumps  working." 

424 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"You  mean — "  and  St.  George  smiled  meaningly 
and  tossed  his  hand  up  as  if  emptying  a  glass. 

"Yes — just  that — "  rejoined  Harry  with  a  nod. 
"It's  so  hot  out  where  I  have  been  that  a  glass  of 
native  rum  is  as  bad  as  a  snake  bite  and  everybody 
except  a  native  leaves  it  alone.  But  if  I  had  gone  to 
the  North  Pole  instead  of  the  equator  I  would  have 
done  the  same.  Men  like  you  and  father,  and  Mr. 
Richard  Horn  and  Mr.  Kennedy,  who  have  been 
brought  up  on  moderation,  may  feel  as  they  choose 
about  it,  but  I'm  going  to  let  it  alone.  It's  the  devil 
when  it  gets  into  your  blood  and  mine's  not  made  for 
it.  I'd  like  to  thank  Mr.  Poe  if  I  dared,  which  I 
wouldn't,  of  course,  if  I  ever  saw  him,  for  what  he 
did  for  me.  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  would  give 
a  good  deal  himself  to  do  the  same — or  has  he  pulled 
out?" 

"  He  never  has  pulled  in,  Harry — not  continuously. 
Richard  has  the  right  of  it.  Poe  is  a  man  pursued 
by  a  devil  and  lives  always  on  the  watch  to  prevent  the 
fiend  from  getting  the  best  of  him.  Months  at  a  time 
he  wins  and  then  there  comes  a  day  when  the  devil 
gets  on  top.  He  says  himself — he  told  me  this  the  last 
time  I  saw  him — that  he  really  lives  a  life  devoted  to 
his  literary  work;  that  he  shuts  himself  up  from  every 
body;  and  that  the  desire  for  society  only  comes  upon 
him  when  he's  excited  by  drink.  Then,  and  only 
then,  does  he  go  among  his  fellows.  There  is  some 
truth  in  that,  my  son,  for  as  long  as  I  have  known  him 
I  have  never  seen  him  in  his  cups  except  that  one  night 

425 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

at  my  house.  A  courteous,  well-bred  gentleman,  my 
boy — most  punctilious  about  all  his  obligations  and 
very  honest  about  his  failings.  All  he  said  to  me 
the  next  day  when  he  sobered  up — I  kept  him  all  that 
night,  you  remember — was:  'I  was  miserably  weak 
and  inexcusably  drunk  last  night,  Mr.  Temple.  If 
that  was  all  it  would  make  no  difference;  I  have  been 
very  drunk  before,  and  I  will  be  very  drunk  again; 
but  in  addition  to  my  being  drunk  I  insulted  you  and 
your  friends  and  ruined  your  dinner.  That  makes 
every  difference.  Don't  let  it  cause  a  break  between 
us.  Let  me  come  again.  And  now  please  brush  it 
from  your  mind.  If  you  knew  how  I  suffer  over  this 
fiend  who  tortures  and  gloats  over  me  you'd  only  have 
the  greatest  pity  for  me,  in  your  heart/  Then  he 
wrung  my  hand  and  left  the  house." 

"  Well,  that's  all  any  of  us  could  do/'  sighed  Harry, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  his  eyes  on  the  ceiling.  "  It 
makes  some  difference,  however,  of  whom  you  ask  for 
giveness.  I've  been  willing  to  say  the  same  kind  of 
thing  to  my  father  ever  since  my  affair  with  Mr.  Willits, 
but  it  would  have  fallen  on  deaf  ears.  I  had  another 
trial  at  it  yesterday,  and  you  know  what  happened." 

"  I  don't  think  your  father  knew  you,  Harry,"  pro 
tested  St.  George,  with  a  negative  wave  of  his  hand. 

"I  hope  he  didn't— I  shouldn't  like  to  think  he  did. 
But,  by  heaven!  it  broke  my  heart  to  see  him,  Uncle 
George.  You  would  hardly  know  him.  Even  his 
voice  has  changed  and  the  shade  over  his  eyes  and  the 
way  he  twists  his  head  when  he  looks  at  you  really 

426 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

gave  me  a  creepy  feeling,"  and  the  young  man  passed 
his  fingers  across  his  own  eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  some 
hideous  object. 

"Was  he  looking  straight  at  you  when  he  ordered 
you  from  the  room?" 

"Straight  as  he  could." 

"  Well,  let  us  try  and  think  it  was  the  beard.  And 
that  reminds  me,  son,  that  it's  got  to  come  off,  and 
right  away.  When  Todd  comes  in  he'll  find  my  razors 
and " 

"No— I'll  look  up  a  barber." 

"  Not  down  in  this  part  of  the  town,"  exclaimed  St. 
George  with  a  suggestive  grimace. 

"No — I'll  go  up  to  Guy's.  There  used  to  be  an 
old  negro  there  who  looked  after  us  young  fellows  when 
our  beards  began  to  sprout.  He'll  take  care  of  it  all 
right.  WThile  I'm  out  I'll  stop  and  send  Todd  back. 
I'm  going  to  end  his  apprenticeship  to-day,  and  so 
he'll  help  you  dress.  Nothing  like  getting  into  your 
clothes  when  you're  well  enough  to  get  out  of  bed; 
I've  done  it  more  than  once,"  and  with  a  pat  on  his 
uncle's  shoulder  and  the  readjustment  of  the  blanket, 
he  closed  the  door  behind  him  and  left  the  room. 

"Everything  is  working  fine,  auntie,"  he  cried 
gaily  as  he  passed  the  old  woman  who  was  hanging 
out  the  last  of  her  wash.  "I'll  be  back  in  an  hour. 
Don't  tell  him  yet — "  and  he  strode  out  of  the  yard 
on  his  way  uptown. 


427 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

Intruders  of  all  kinds  had  thrust  their  heads  between 
the  dripping,  slightly  moist,  and  wholly  dry  installments 
of  Aunt  Jemima's  Monday  wash,  and  each  and  every 
one  had  been  assailed  by  a  vocabulary  hurled  at  them 
through  the  creaky  gate,  and  as  far  out  as  the  street 
— peddlers;  beggars;  tramps;  loose  darkies  with  no  vis 
ible  means  of  support,  who  had  smelt  the  cooking  in 
the  air — even  goats  with  an  acquired  taste  for  stocking 
legs  and  window  curtains — all  of  whom  had  either  been 
invited  out,  whirled  out,  or  thrown  out,  dependent 
upon  the  damage  inflicted,  the  size  of  the  favors  asked, 
or  the  length  of  space  intervening  between  Jemima's 
right  arm  and  their  backs.  In  all  of  these  instances 
the  old  cook  had  been  the  broom  and  the  intruders 
the  dust.  Being  an  expert  in  its  use  the  intruders  had 
succumbed  before  they  had  gotten  through  their  first 
sentence.  In  the  case  of  the  goat  even  that  privilege 
was  denied  him;  it  was  the  handle  and  not  the  brush- 
part  which  ended  the  argument.  To  see  Aunt  Je 
mima  get  rid  of  a  goat  in  one  whack  and  two  jumps 
was  not  only  a  lesson  in  condensed  conversation,  but 
furnished  a  sight  one  rarely  forgot — the  goat  never! 

This  morning  the  situation  was  reversed.  It  was 
Aunt  Jemima  who  came  flying  upstairs,  her  eyes  pop- 

428 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

ping  from  her  head,  her  plump  hands  flattened  against 
her  big,  heaving  bosom,  her  breath  gone  in  the  effort 
to  tell  her  dreadful  news  before  she  should  drop  dead. 

"Marse  George!  who  d'ye  think's  downstairs?" 
"he  gasped,  bursting  in  the  door  of  his  bedroom,  with 
out  even  the  customary  tap.  "Oh,  bless  Gawd!  dat 
you'se  outen  dat  bed!  and  dressed  and  tryin'  yo'  po' 
legs  about  the  room.  He's  comin'  up.  Got  a  man 
wid  him  I  ain't  neber  see  befo'.  Says  he's  a-lookin'  fer 
somebody!  Git  in  de  closet  an'  I'll  tell  him  you'se 
out  an'  den  I'll  run  an'  watch  for  Marse  Harry  at  de 
gate.  Oh,  I  doan'  like  dis  yere  bus'ness,"  and  she 
began  to  wring  her  hands. 

St.  George,  who  had  been  listening  to  the  old  woman 
with  mingled  feelings  of  wonder  and  curiosity,  raised 
his  hand  to  silence  her.  Whether  she  had  gone  daft 
or  was  more  than  usually  excited  he  could  not  for  the 
moment  decide. 

"  Get  your  breath,  Jemima,  and  tell  me  what  you're 
talking  about.  Who's  downstairs?" 

"Ain't  I  jes'  don'  tol'  yer?  Got  a  look  on  him 
make  ye  shiver  all  over;  says  he's  gwineter  s'arch  de 
house.  He's  got  a  constable  wid  him — dat  is,  he's 
got  a  man  dat  looks  like  a  constable,  an' " 

St.  George  laid  his  hands  on  the  old  woman's  shoul 
ders,  and  turned  her  about. 

"  Hush  your  racket  this  instant,  and  tell  me  who  is 
downstairs  ?  " 

"  Marse  Talbot  Rutter,"  she  wheezed;  "come  f'om 
de  country — got  mud  all  ober  his  boots." 

429 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Mr.  Harry's  father?" 

Aunt  Jemima  choked  and  nodded:  there  was  no 
breath  left  for  more. 

"Who  did  he  ask  for?"  St.  George  was  calm 
enough  now. 

"Didn't  ask  fer  nobody;  he  say,  'I'm  lookin'  fer  a 
man  dat  come  in  yere  las'  night/  I  see  he  didn't 
know  me  an'  I  neber  let  on.  Den  he  say,  'Hab  you 
got  any  boa'ders  yere?'  an'  I  say,  'I  got  one/  an' 
den  he  'tempted  ter  pass  me  an'  I  say, '  Wait  a  minute 
'til  I  see  ef  he's  outen  de  bed/  Now,  what's  I 
gwineter  do  ?  He  doan'  mean  no  good  to  Marse  Harry 
an*  he'll  dribe  him  'way  ag'in,  an'  he  jes'  come  back 
an'  you  gittin'  well  a-lovin*  of  him — an' " 

An  uncertain  step  was  heard  in  the  hall. 

"Dat's  him,"  Jemima  whispered  hoarsely,  behind 
her  hand,  "what'll  I  do?  Doan'  let  him  come  in. 
I'll " 

St.  George  moved  past  her  and  pushed  back  the 
door. 

Colonel  Rutter  stood  outside. 

The  two  men  looked  into  each  other's  faces. 

"  I  am  in  search,  sir,"  the  colonel  began,  shading  his 
eyes  with  his  fingers,  the  brighter  light  of  the  room 
weakening  his  sight,  "  for  a  young  sailor  whom  I  am 
informed  stopped  here  last  night,  and  who  .  .  .  St. 
George!  What  in  the  name  of  God  are  you  doing  in 
a  place  like  this?" 

"Come  inside,  Talbot,"  Temple  replied  calmly, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  Rutter's  drawn  face  and  faltering 

430 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

gaze.  "Aunt  Jemima,  hand  Colonel  Rutter  a  chair. 
You  will  excuse  me  if  I  sit  down —  I  am  just  out  of 
bed  after  a  long  illness,  and  am  a  little  weak,"  and 
he  settled  slowly  into  his  seat.  "  My  servant  tells  me 
that  you  are  looking  for  a " 

St.  George  paused.  Rutter  was  paying  no  more  at 
tention  to  what  he  said  than  if  he  had  been  in  the  next 
room.  He  was  straining  his  eyes  about  the  apartment; 
taking  in  the  empty  bed  from  which  St.  George  had 
just  arisen,  the  cheap  chairs  and  small  pine  table  and 
the  kitchen  plates  and  cup  which  still  held  the  re 
mains  of  St.  George's  breakfast.  He  waited  until 
Jemima  had  backed  out  of  the  door,  her  scared  face 
still  a  tangle  of  emotions — fear  for  her  master's  safety 
uppermost.  His  eyes  again  veered  to  St.  George. 

"What  does  it  all  mean,  Temple?"  he  asked  in  a 
dazed  way. 

"I  don't  think  that  subject  is  under  discussion, 
Talbot,  and  we  will,  therefore,  pass  it.  To  what  do 
I  owe  the  honor  of  this  visit?" 

"Don't  be  a  damned  fool,  St.  George  I  Don't  you 
see  I'm  half  crazy?  Harry  has  come  back  and  he  is 
hiding  somewhere  in  this  neighborhood." 

"How  do  you  know?"  he  inquired  coolly.  He 
did  not  intend  to  help  Rutter  one  iota  in  his  search 
until  he  found  out  why  he  wanted  Harry.  No  more 
cursing  of  either  his  son  or  himself — that  was  another 
chapter  which  was  closed. 

"Because  I've  been  hunting  for  him  all  day.  He 
rode  out  to  Moorlands  yesterday,  and  I  didn't  know 

431 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

him,  he's  so  changed.  But  think  of  it!  St.  George,  I 
ordered  him  out  of  my  office.  I  took  him  for  a  road- 
peddler.  And  he's  going  to  sea  again — he  told  Alec 
as  much.  I  tell  you  I  have  got  to  get  hold  of  him! 
Don't  sit  there  and  stare  at  me,  man!  tell  me  where 
I  can  find  my  son!" 

"What  made  you  suppose  he  was  here,  Talbot?" 
The  same  cool,  measured  speech  and  manner,  but  with 
a  more  open  mind  behind  it  now.  The  pathetic  aspect 
of  the  man,  and  the  acute  suffering  shown  in  every 
tone  of  his  voice,  had  begun  to  tell  upon  the  invalid. 

"  Because  a  man  I've  got  downstairs  brought  Harry 
here  last  night.  He  is  not  positive,  as  it  was  quite 
dark,  but  he  thinks  this  is  the  place.  I  went  first  to 
the  Barkeley  Line,  found  they  had  a  ship  in — the 
Mohican — and  saw  the  captain,  who  told  me  of  a  man 
who  came  aboard  at  Rio.  Then  I  learned  where  he 
had  put  up  for  the  night — a  low  sailors'  retreat — and 
found  this  peddler  who  said  he  had  sold  Harry  the 
silks  which  he  offered  me.  He  brought  me  here." 

"Well,  I  can't  help  you  any.  There  are  only  two 
rooms — I  occupy  this  and  my  old  cook,  Jemima,  has 
the  other.  I  have  been  here  for  over  a  month." 

"Here!  in  this  God-forsaken  place!  Why,  we 
thought  you  had  gone  to  Virginia.  That's  why  we 
have  had  no  answers  to  our  letters,  and  we've  hunted 
high  and  low  for  you.  Certainly  you  have  heard  about 
the  Patapsco  and  what " 

"I  certainly  have  heard  nothing,  Talbot,  and  as  I 
have  just  told  you,  I'd  rather  you  would  not  discuss 

432 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

my  affairs.  The  last  time  you  saw  fit  to  encroach 
upon  them  brought  only  bitterness,  and  I  prefer  not 
to  repeat  it.  Anything  you  have  to  say  about  Harry 
I  will  gladly  hear.  Go  on — Fm  listening." 

"For  God's  sake,  St.  George,  don't  take  that  tone 
with  me!  If  you  knew  how  wretched  I  am  you'd  be 
sorry  for  me.  I  am  a  broken-down  man!  If  Harry 
goes  away  again  without  my  seeing  him  I  don't  want 
to  live  another  day.  When  Alec  came  running  back 
last  night  and  told  me  that  I  had  cursed  my  son  to 
his  face,  I  nearly  went  out  of  my  mind.  I  knew  when 
I  saw  Alec's  anger  that  it  was  true,  and  I  knew,  too, 
what  a  brute  I  had  been.  I  ran  to  Annie's  room, 
took  her  in  my  arms,  and  asked  her  pardon.  All 
night  I  walked  my  room;  at  daylight  I  rang  for  Alec, 
sent  for  Matthew,  and  he  hooked  up  the  carryall  and 
we  came  in  here.  Annie  wanted  to  come  with  me,  but 
I  wouldn't  let  her.  I  knew  Seymour  wasn't  out  of  bed 
that  early,  and  so  I  drove  straight  to  the  shipping  office 
and  waited  until  it  was  open,  and  I've  been  hunting 
for  him  ever  since.  You  and  I  have  been  boys  to 
gether,  St.  George — don't  lay  up  against  me  all  the 
insulting  things  I've  said  to  you — all  the  harm  I've 
done  you!  God  knows  I've  repented  of  it!  Will  you 
forgive  me,  St.  George,  for  the  sake  of  the  Old  days 
— for  the  sake  of  my  boy  to  whom  you  have  been  a 
father  ?  Will  you  give  me  your  hand  ?  W7hat  in  the 
name  of  common  sense  should  you  and  I  be  enemies 
for?  I,  who  owe  you  more  than  I  owe  any  man  in 
the  world!  Will  you  help  me?" 

433 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

St.  George  was  staring  now.  He  bent  forward, 
gripped  the  arms  of  his  chair  for  a  better  purchase, 
and  lifted  himself  to  his  feet.  There  he  stood  swaying, 
Rutter's  outstretched  hand  in  both  of  his,  his  whole 
nature  stirred — only  one  thought  in  his  heart — to  wipe 
out  the  past  and  bring  father  and  son  together,, 

"Yes,  Talbot— I'll  forgive  you  and  I'll  help  you- 
I  have  helped  you!  Harry  will  be  here  in  a  few 
minutes — I  sent  him  out  to  get  his  beard  shaved  off 
— that's  why  you  didn't  know  him." 

The  colonel  reeled  and  but  for  St.  George's  hand 
would  have  lost  his  balance.  All  the  blood  was  gone 
from  his  cheeks.  He  tried  to  speak,  but  the  lips  re 
fused  to  move.  For  an  instant  St.  George  thought 
he  would  sink  to  the  floor. 

"You  say — Harry  .  .  .  is  here!"  he  stammered  out 
at  last,  catching  wildly  at  Temple's  other  hand  to 
steady  himself. 

"  Yes,  he  came  across  Todd  by  the  merest  accident 
or  he  would  have  gone  to  the  Eastern  Shore  to  look 
.me  up.  Listen! — that's  his  step  now!  Turn  that 
door  knob  and  hold  out  your  hands  to  him,  and  after 
you've  got  your  arms  around  him  get  down  on  your 
knees  and  thank  your  God  that  you've  got  such  a  son! 
I  do,  every  hour  I  live!" 

The  door  swung  wide  and  Harry  strode  in :  his  eyes 
glistening,  his  cheeks  aglow. 

"Up,  are  you,  and  in  your  clothes!"  he  cried  joy 
fully,  all  the  freshness  of  the  morning  in  his  voice, 
"Well,  that's  something  like!  How  do  you  like  me 

434 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

now  ? — smooth  as  a  marlinspike  and  my  hair  trimmed 
in  the  latest  fashion,  so  old  Bones  says.  He  didn't 
know  me  either  till  he  got  clear  down  below  my  mouth 
and  when  my  chin  began  to  show  he  gave  a 

He  stopped  and  stared  at  his  father,  who  had  been 
hidden  from  sight  by  the  swinging  door.  The  surprise 
was  so  great  that  his  voice  clogged  in  his  throat. 
Rutter  stood  like  one  who  had  seen  an  apparition. 

St.  George  broke  the  silence: 

"  It's  all  right,  Harry—give  your  father  your  hand." 

The  colonel  made  a  step  forward,  threw  out  one 
arm  as  if  to  regain  his  equilibrium  and  swayed  toward 
a  chair,  his  frame  shaking  convulsively,  wholly  un 
strung,  sobbing  like  a  child.  Harry  sprang  to  catch 
him  and  the  two  sank  down  together — no  word  of  com 
fort — only  the  mute  appeal  of  touch — the  brown  hand 
wet  with  his  father's  tears. 

For  some  seconds  neither  spoke,  then  Rutter  raised 
his  head  and  looked  into  his  son's  face. 

"I  didn't  know  it  was  you,  Harry.  I  have  been 
hunting  you  all  day  to  ask  your  pardon."  It  was 
the  memory  of  the  last  indignity  he  had  heaped  upon 
him  that  tortured  him. 

"I  knew  you  didn't,  father." 

"Don't  go  away  again,  Harry,  please  don't,  my 
son  I "  he  pleaded,  strangling  the  tears,  trying  to  regain 
his  self-control — tears  had  often  of  late  moistened 
Rutter's  lids.  "Your  mother  can't  stand  it  another 
year,  and  I'm  breaking  up — half  blind.  You  won't 
go,  will  you?" 

435 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"No — not  right  away,  father — we'll  talk  of  that 
later."  He  was  still  in  the  dark  as  to  how  it  had  come 
about.  All  he  knew  was  that  for  the  first  time  in  all 
his  life  his  father  had  asked  his  pardon,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  the  barrier  which  held  them  apart 
had  been  broken  down. 

The  colonel  braced  himself  in  his  seat  in  one  supreme 
effort  to  get  himself  in  hand.  One  of  his  boasts  was 
that  he  had  never  lost  his  self-control.  Harry  rose 
to  his  feet  and  stood  beside  him.  St.  George,  trem 
bling  from  his  own  weakness,  a  great  throb  of  thank 
fulness  in  his  heart,  had  kept  his  place  in  his  chair,  his 
eyes  turned  away  from  the  scene.  His  own  mind  had 
also  undergone  a  change.  He  had  always  known 
that  somewhere  down  in  Talbot  Rutter's  heart — down 
underneath  the  strata  of  pride  and  love  of  power, 
there  could  be  found  the  heart  of  a  father — indeed  he 
had  often  predicted  to  himself  just  such  a  coming 
together.  It  was  the  boy's  pluck  and  manliness  that 
had  done  it;  a  manliness  free  from  all  truckling  or 
cringing.  And  then  his  tenderness  over  the  man  who 
had  of  all  others  in  the  world  wronged  him  most!  He 
could  hardly  keep  his  glad  hands  off  the  boy. 

"You  will  go  home  with  me,  of  course,  won't  you, 
Harry  ? "  He  must  ask  his  consent  now — this  son  of 
his  whom  he  had  driven  from  his  home  and  insulted  in 
the  presence  of  his  friends  at  the  club,  and  whom  he 
could  see  was  now  absolutely  independent  of  him — 
and  what  was  more  to  the  point  absolutely  his  own 
master. 

436 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"'Yes,  of  course,  I'll  go  home  with  you,  father," 
came  the  respectful  answer,  "if  mother  isn't  coming 
in.  Did  she  or  Alec  say  anything  to  you  about  it 
before  you  left?" 

"  No,  she  isn't  coming  in  to-day — I  wouldn't  let  her. 
It  was  too  early  when  I  started.  But  that's  not  what 
I  mean,"  he  went  on  with  increasing  excitement.  "  I 
want  you  to  go  home  with  me  and  stay  forever;  I 
want  to  forget  the  past;  I  want  St.  George  to  hear 
me  say  so!  Come  and  take  your  place  at  the  head  of 
the  estate — I  will  have  Gorsuch  arrange  the  papers 
to-morrow.  You  and  St.  George  must  go  back  with 
me  to-day.  I  have  the  large  carryall — Matthew  is 
with  me — he  stopped  at  the  corner — he's  there  now." 

"That's  very  kind  of  you,  father,"  Harry  rejoined 
calmly,  concealing  as  best  he  could  his  disappointment 
at  not  being  able  to  see  his  mother. 

"Yes!  of  course  you  will  go  with  me,"  his  father 
continued  in  nervous,  jerky  tones.  "  Please  send  the 
servant  for  Matthew,  my  coachman,  and  have  him 
drive  up.  As  for  you,  St.  George,  you  can't  stay  here 
another  hour.  How  you  ever  got  here  is  more  than 
I  can  understand.  Moorlands  is  the  place  for  you 
both — you'll  get  well  there.  My  carriage  is  a  very 
easy  one.  Perhaps  I  had  better  go  for  Matthew 
myself." 

"No,  don't  move,  Talbot,"  rejoined  St.  George  in 
a  calm  firm  voice  wondering  at  Talbot's  manner. 
He  had  never  seen  him  like  this.  All  his  old-time 
measured  talk  and  manner  were  gone;  he  was  like 

437 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

some  breathless,  hunted  man  pleading  for  his  life. 
"I'm  very  grateful  to  you  but  I  shall  stay  here. 
Harry,  will  you  kindly  go  for  Matthew?" 

"Stay  here! — for  how  long?"  cried  the  colonel  in 
astonishment,  his  glance  following  Harry  as  he  left 
the  room  in  obedience  to  his  uncle's  request. 

"Well,  perhaps  for  the  balance  of  the  winter." 

"In  this  hole?"     His  voice  had  grown  stronger. 

"Certainly,  why  not?"  replied  St.  George  simply, 
moving  his  chair  so  that  his  guest  might  see  him  the 
better.  "My  servants  are  taking  care  of  me.  I  can 
pay  my  way  here,  and  it's  about  the  only  place  in 
which  I  can  pay  it,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  frankly, 
Talbot,  that  I  am  very  happy  to  be  here — am  very 
glad,  really,  to  get  such  a  place.  No  one  could  be 
more  devoted  than  my  Todd  and  Jemima — I  shall 
never  forget  their  kindness." 

"But  you're  not  a  pauper?"  cried  the  colonel  in 
some  heat. 

"  That  was  what  you  were  once  good  enough  to  call 
me — the  last  time  we  met.  The  only  change  is  that 
then  I  owed  Pawson  and  that  now  I  owe  Todd,"  he 
replied,  trying  to  repress  a  smile,  as  if  the  humor  of 
the  situation  would  overcome  him  if  he  was  not  care 
ful.  "Thank  you  very  much,  Talbot — and  I  mean 
every  word  of  it — but  I'll  stay  where  I  am,  at  least  for 
the  present." 

"  But  the  bank  is  on  its  legs  again,"  rebounded  the 
colonel,  ignoring  all  reference  to  the  past,  his  voice 
gaining  in  volume. 

438 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"So  am  I,"  laughed  St.  George,  tapping  his  lean 
thighs  with  his  transparent  fingers — "  on  a  very  shaky 
pair  of  legs — so  shaky  that  I  shall  have  to  go  to  bed 
again  pretty  soon." 

"But  you're  coming  out  all  right,  St.  George!" 
Rutter  had  squared  himself  in  his  chair  and  was  now 
looking  straight  at  his  host.  "Gorsuch  has  written 
you  half  a  dozen  letters  about  it  and  not  a  word  from 
you  in  reply.  Now  I  see  why.  But  all  that  will 
come  out  in  time,  I  tell  you.  You're  not  going  to 
stay  here  for  an  hour  longer."  His  old  personality 
was  beginning  to  assert  itself. 

"The  future  doesn't  interest  me,  Talbot,"  smiled 
St.  George  in  perfect  good  humor.  "In  my  experi 
ence  my  future  has  always  been  worse  than  my  past." 

"  But  that  is  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  go  home 
with  me  now  and  let  us  take  care  of  you,"  Rutter 
cried  in  a  still  more  positive  tone.  "Annie  will  be 
delighted.  Stay  a  month  with  me — stay  a  year. 
After  what  I  owe  you,  St.  George,  there's  nothing  I 
wouldn't  do  for  you." 

"You  have  already  done  it,  Talbot — every  obliga 
tion  is  wiped  out,"  rejoined  St.  George  in  a  satisfied 
tone. 

"How?" 

"By  coming  here  and  asking  Harry's  pardon — 
that  is  more  to  me  than  all  the  things  I  have  ever 
possessed,"  and  his  voice  broke  as  he  thought  of  the 
change  that  had  taken  place  in  Harry's  fortunes  in  the 
last  half  hour.  , 

439 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Then  come  out  to  Moorlands  and  let  me  prove 
it!"  exclaimed  the  colonel,  leaning  forward  in  his 
eagerness  and  grasping  St.  George  by  the  sleeve. 

"No,"  replied  St.  George  in  appreciative  but  posi 
tive  tones — showing  his  mind  was  fully  made  up.  "  If 
I  go  anywhere  I'll  go  back  to  my  house  on  Kennedy 
Square — that  is  to  the  little  of  it  that  is  still  mine.  I'll 
stay  there  for  a  day  or  two,  to  please  Harry — or  until 
they  turn  me  out  again,  and  then  I'll  come  back  here. 
Change  of  air  may  do  me  good,  and  besides,  Jemima 
and  Todd  should  get  a  rest." 

The  colonel  rose  to  his  feet:  "You  shall  do  no 
such  thing!"  he  exploded.  The  old  dominating  air 
was  in  full  swing  now.  "I  tell  you  you  will  come 
with  me!  Damn  you,  St.  George! — if  you  don't  I'll 
never  speak  to  you  again,  so  help  me,  God!" 

St.  George  threw  back  his  head  and  burst  into  a 
roar  of  laughter  in  which,  after  a  moment  of  angry 
hesitation,  Rutter  joined.  Then  he  reached  down 
and  with  his  hand  on  St.  George's  shoulder,  said  in 
a  coaxing  tone — "Come  along  to  Moorlands,  old  fel 
low — I'd  be  so  glad  to  have  you,  and  so  will  Annie, 
and  we'll  live  over  the  old  days." 

Harry's  re-entrance  cut  short  the  answer. 

"  No  father,"  he  cried  cheerily,  taking  up  the  refrain. 
He  had  seen  the  friendly  caress  and  had  heard  the 
last  sentence.  "Uncle  George  is  still  too  ill,  and  too 
weak  for  so  long  a  drive.  It's  only  the  excitement 
over  my  return  that  keeps  him  up  now — and  he'll 
collapse  if  we  don't  lock  out — but  he'll  collapse  in  a 

440 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

better  place  than  this!"  he  added  with  joyous  empha 
sis.  "Todd  is  outside,  the  hack  is  at  the  gate,  and 
Jemima  is  now  waiting  for  him  in  his  old  room  at 
home.  Give  me  your  arm,  you  blessed  old  cripple, 
and  let  me  help  you  downstairs.  Out  of  the  way, 
father,  or  he'll  change  his  mind  and  I'll  have  to  pick 
him  up  bodily  and  carry  him." 

St.  George  shot  a  merry  glance  at  Harry  from  under 
his  eyebrows,  and  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  and  a  dep 
recating  shake  of  his  head  at  the  colonel  said: 

"These  rovers  and  freebooters,  Talbot,  have  so 
lorded  it  over  their  serfs  that  they've  lost  all  respect 
for  their  betters.  Give  me  your  hand,  you  vagabond, 
and  if  you  break  my  neck  I'll  make  you  bury  me." 

The  colonel  looked  on  silently  and  a  sharp  pain 
gripped  his  throat.  When,  in  all  his  life,  had  he  ever 
been  spoken  to  by  his  boy  in  that  spirit,  and  when  in 
all  his  life  had  he  ever  seen  that  same  tenderness  in 
Harry's  eyes?  What  had  he  not  missed? 

"  Harry,  may  I  make  a  suggestion  ? "  he  asked 
almost  apologetically.  The  young  fellow  turned  his 
head  in  respectful  attention:  "Put  St.  George  in  my 
carriage — it  is  much  more  comfortable — and  let  me 
drive  him  home — my  eyes  are  quite  good  in  the  day 
time,  after  I  get  used  to  the  light,  and  I  am  still  able 
to  take  the  road.  Then  put  your  servant  and  mine 
in  the  hack  with  St.  George's  and  your  own  luggage." 

"Capital  idea!"  cried  Harry  enthusiastically  "I 
never  thought  of  it!  Attention  company!  Eyes  to  the 
front,  Mr.  Temple!  You'll  now  remain  on  waiting  or- 

441 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

ders  until  I  give  you  permission  to  move,  and  as  this 
may  take  some  time — please  hold  on  to  him,  father,  un 
til  I  get  his  chair"  (they  were  already  out  on  the  land 
ing — on  the  very  plank  where  Harry  had  passed  the 
night)  "you'll  go  back  to  your  quarters  .  .  .  Here 
sir,  these  are  your  quarters,"  and  Harry  dragged  the 
chair  into  position  with  his  foot.  "Down  with  you 
.  .  .  that's  it  ...  and  you  will  stay  here  until  the 
baggage  and  hospital  train  arrives,  when  you'll  occupy 
a  front  seat  in  the  van — and  there  will  be  no  grum 
bling  or  lagging  behind  of  any  kind,  remember,  or 
you'll  get  ten  days  in  the  calaboose!" 

Pawson  was  on  the  curbstone,  his  face  shining,  his 
semaphore  arms  and  legs  in  action,  his  eyes  searching 
the  distance,  when  the  two  vehicles  came  in  sight. 
He  had  heard  the  day  boat  was  very  late,  and  as  there 
had  been  a  heavy  fog  over  night,  did  not  worry  about 
the  delay  in  their  arrival. 

What  troubled  him  more  was  the  change  in  Mr. 
Temple's  appearance.  He  had  gone  away  ruddy, 
erect,  full  of  vigor  and  health,  and  here  he  was  being 
helped  out  of  the  carriage,  pale,  shriveled,  his  eyes  deep 
set  in  his  head.  His  voice,  though,  was  still  strong 
if  his  legs  were  shaky,  and  there  seemed  also  to  be  no 
diminution  in  the  flow  pf  his  spirits.  Wesley  had 
kept  that  part  of  him  intact  whatever  changes  the 
climate  had  made. 

"Ah,  Pawson — glad  to  see  you!"  the  invalid  called 
gaily  extending  his  hand  as  soon  as  he  stood  erect  on 

442 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

the  sidewalk.  "  Back  again,  you  see — these  old  derel 
icts  bob  up  once  in  a  while  when  you  least  expect 
them/'  And  he  wrung  his  hand  heartily.  "So  the 
vultures,  it  seems,  have  not  turned  up  yet  and  made 
their  roost  in  my  nest.  Most  kind  of  you  to  stay 
home  and  give  up  your  business  to  meet  me!  You 
know  Colonel  Talbot  Rutter,  of  Moorlands,  I  presume, 
and  Mr.  Harry  Rutter — Of  course  you  do!  Harry 
has  told  me  all  about  your  midnight  meeting  when 
you  took  him  for  a  constable,  and  he  took  you  for  a 
thief.  No — please  don't  laugh,  Pawson — Mr.  Rutter 
is  the  worst  kind  of  a  thief.  Not  only  has  he  stolen 
my  heart  because  of  his  goodness  to  me,  but  he  threat 
ens  to  make  off  with  my  body.  Give  me  your  hand, 
Todd.  Now  a  little  lift  on  that  rickety  elbow  and  I 
reckon  we  can  make  that  flight  of  steps.  I  have  come 
down  them  so  many  times  of  late  with  no  expectation 
of  ever  mounting  them  again  that  it  will  be  a  novelty 
to  be  sure  of  staying  over  night.  Come  in,  Talbot, 
and  see  the  home  of  my  ancestors.  I  am  sorry  the 
Black  Warrior  is  all  gone — I  sent  Kennedy  the  last 
bottle  some  time  ago — pity  that  vintage  didn't  last 
forever.  Do  you  know,  Talbot,  if  I  had  my  way,  I'd 
have  a  special  spigot  put  in  the  City  Spring  labelled 
'Gift  of  a  once  prominent  citizen,'  and  supply  the  in 
habitants  with  1810 — something  fit  for  a  gentleman 
to  drink." 

They  were  all  laughing  now;  the  colonel  carrying 
the  pillows  Todd  had  tucked  behind  the  invalid's 
back,  Harry  a  few  toilet  articles  wrapped  in  paper,  and 

443 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Matthew  his  cane — and  so  the  cortege  crawled  up  the 
steps,  crossed  the  dismantled  dining-room — the  colo 
nel  aghast  at  the  change  made  in  its  interior  since  last 
he  saw  it — and  so  on  to  St.  George's  room  where  Todd 
and  Jemima  put  him  to  bed. 

His  uncle  taken  care  of — (his  father  had  kept  on 
to  Moorlands  to  tell  his  mother  the  good  news) — 
Harry  mounted  the  stairs  to  his  old  room,  which  Paw- 
son  had  generously  vacated. 

The  appointments  were  about  the  same  as  when  he 
left;  time  and  poverty  had  wrought  but  few  changes. 
Pawson,  had  moved  in  a  few  books  and  there  was  a 
night  table  beside  the  small  bed  with  a  lamp  on  it, 
showing  that  he  read  late;  but  the  bureau  and  shabby 
arm-chair,  and  the  closet,  stripped  now  of  the  young 
attorney's  clothes  to  make  room  for  the  wanderer's — 
(a  scant,  sorry  lot) — were  pretty  much  the  same  as 
Harry  had  found  on  that  eventful  night  when  he  had 
driven  in  through  the  rain  and  storm  beside  his  Uncle 
George,  his  father's  anathemas  ringing  in  his  ears. 

Unconsciously  his  mind  went  back  to  the  events  of 
the  day; — more  especially  to  his  uncle's  wonderful 
vitality  and  the  blissful  change  his  own  home-coming 
had  wrought  not  only  in  his  physique,  but  in  his 
spirits.  Then  his  father's  shattered  form,  haggard 
face,  and  uncertain  glance  rose  before  him,  and  with  it 
came  the  recollection  of  all  that  had  happened  dur 
ing  the  previous  hours:  his  father's  brutal  outburst  in 
the  small  office  and  the  marvellous  effect  produced 
upon  him  when  he  learned  the  truth  from  Alec's  lips; 

444 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

his  hurried  departure  in  the  gray  dawn  for  the  ship 
and  his  tracing  him  to  Jemima's  house.  More  amaz 
ing  still  was  his  present  bearing  toward  himself  and 
St.  George;  his  deference  to  their  wishes  and  his  wil 
lingness  to  follow  and  not  lead.  Was  it  his  ill-health 
that  had  brought  about  this  astounding  reformation  in 
a  man  who  brooked  no  opposition  ? — or  had  his  heart 
really  softened  toward  him  so  that  from  this  on  he 
could  again  call  him  father  in  the  full  meaning  of  the 
term?  At  this  a  sudden,  acute  pain  wrenched  his 
heart.  Perhaps  he  had  not  been  glad  enough  to  see 
him— perhaps  in  his  anxiety  over  his  uncle  he  had 
failed  in  those  little  tendernesses  which  a  returned 
prodigal  should  have  shown  the  father  who  had  held 
out  his  arms  and  asked  his  forgiveness.  Why  was 
he  not  more  affected  by  the  sight  of  his  suffering. 
When  he  first  saw  his  uncle  he  had  not  been  able  to 
keep  the  tears  back — and  yet  his  eyes  were  dry 
enough  when  he  saw  his  father.  At  this  he  fell  to 
wondering  as  to  the  present  condition  of  the  colonel's 
mind.  What  was  he  thinking  of  in  that  lonely  drive. 
He  must  be  nearing  Moorlands  by  this  time  and  Alec 
would  meet  him,  and  later  the  dear  mother — and  the 
whole  story  would  be  told.  He  could  see  her  glad 
face — her  eyes  streaming  tears,  her  heart  throbbing 
with  the  joy  of  his  return. 

And  it  is  a  great  pity  he  could  not  have  thus  looked 
in  upon  the  autocrat  of  Moorlands  as  he  sat  hunched 
up  on  the  back  seat  of  the  carryall,  his  head  bowed, 

445 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

the  only  spoken  words  being  Matthew's  cheery  hasten 
ing  of  his  horses.  And  it  is  even  a  greater  pity  that 
the  son  could  not  have  searched  as  well  the  secret 
places  of  the  man's  heart:  such  clearings  out  of  doubts 
and  misgivings  make  for  peace  and  good  fellowship 
and  righteousness  in  this  world  of  misunderstanding. 

That  a  certain  rest  had  come  into  Rutter's  soul 
could  be  seen  in  his  face — a  peace  that  had  not  settled 
on  his  features  for  years — but,  if  the  truth  must  be  told, 
he  was  far  from  happy.  Somehow  the  joy  he  had 
anticipated  at  the  boy's  home-coming  had  not  been 
realized.  With  the  warmth  of  Harry's  grasp  still 
lingering  in  his  own  and  the  tones  of  his  voice  still 
sounding  in  his  ears,  try  as  he  might,  he  yet  felt  aloof 
from  him — outside — far  off.  Something  had  snapped 
in  the  years  they  had  been  apart — something  he  knew 
could  never  be  repaired.  Where  there  had  once  been 
boyish  love  there  was  now  only  filial  regard.  Down 
in  his  secret  soul  he  felt  it — down  in  his  secret  soul  he 
knew  it!  Worse  than  that — another  had  replaced  him ! 
"Come,  you  dear  old  cripple!" — he  could  hear  the 
voice  and  see  the  love  and  joy  in  the  boy's  eyes  as  he 
shouted  it  out.  Yes,  St.  George  was  his  father  now! 

Then  his  mind  reverted  to  his  former  treatment  of 
his  son  and  for  the  hundredth  time  he  reviewed  his 
side  of  the  case.  What  else  could  he  have  done  and 
still  maintain  the  standards  of  his  ancestors? — the 
universal  question  around  Kennedy  Square,  when  ob 
ligations  of  blood  and  training  were  to  be  considered. 
After  all  it  had  only  been  an  object  lesson;  he  had 

446 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

fully  intended  to  forgive  him  later  on.  When  Harry 
was  a  boy  he  punished  him  as  boys  were  punished; 
when  he  became  a  man  he  punished  him  as  men  were 
punished.  But  for  St.  George  the  plan  would  long 
since  have  worked.  St.  George  had  balked  him 
twice— once  at  the  club  and  once  at  his  home  in 
Kennedy  Square,  when  he  practically  ordered  him 
from  the  house. 

And  yet  he  could  not  but  admit— and  at  this  he  sat 
bolt  upright  in  his  seat— that  even  according  to  his 
own  high  standards  both  St.  George  and  Harry  had 
measured  up  to  them!     Rather  than  touch  another 
penny  of  his  uncle's  money  Harry  had  become  an 
exile;  rather  than  accept  a  penny  from  his  enemy,  St. 
George  had  become  a  pauper.     With  this  view  of  the 
case  fermenting  in  his  mind— and  he  had  not  realized 
the  extent  of  both  sacrifices  until   that  moment— a 
feeling  of  pride  swept  through  him.     It  was  his  boy 
and  his  friend,  who  had  measured  up!— by  suffering, 
by    bodily    weakness— by    privation— by    starvation! 
And  both  had  manfully  and  cheerfully  stood  the  test! 
It  was  the  blood  of  the  DeRuyters  which  had  put 
courage  into  the  boy;  it  was  the  blood  of  the  cavaliers 
rthat  had  made  Temple  the  man  he  was.     And  that 
old  DeRuyter  blood!     How  it  had  told  in  every  glance 
of  his  son's  eyes  and  every  intonation  of  his  voice! 
If  he  had  not  accumulated  a  fortune  he  would— and 
that  before  many  years  were  gone.     But!— and  here  a 
chill  went  through  him.     Would  not  this  still  further 
separate  them,  and  if  it  did  how  could  he  restore  in 

447 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

the  shortest  possible  time  the  old  dependence  and  the 
old  confidence  ?  His  efforts  so  far  had  met  with  al 
most  a  rebuff,  for  Harry  had  shown  no  particular 
pleasure  when  he  told  him  of  his  intention  to  put  him 
in  charge  of  the  estate:  he  had  watched  his  face  closely 
for  a  sign  of  satisfaction,  but  none  had  come.  He  had 
really  seemed  more  interested  in  getting  St.  George 
downstairs  than  in  being  the  fourth  heir  of  Moor 
lands — indeed,  it  was  very  evident  that  he  had  no 
thought  for  anybody  or  anything  except  St.  George. 

All  this  the  son  might  have  known  could  he  have 
sat  by  his  father  in  the  carryall  on  this  way  to  Moor 
lands. 


448 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


The  sudden  halting  of  two  vehicles  close  to  the 
horse-block  of  the  Temple  Mansion-one  an  aristo 
cratic  carryall  driven  by  a  man  in  livery,  and  the  other 
a  dilap,dated  city  hack  in  charge  of  a  negro  in  patched 
overcoat  and  whitey-brown  hat,  the  discharge  of  their 
inmates,  one  of  whom  was  Colonel  Talbot  Rutter  of 
Moorlands  carrying  two  pillows,  and  another  a  strange 
young  man   loaded   down   with   blankets— the   slow 
disembarking  of  a  gentleman  in  so  wretched  a  state 
ot  health  that  he  was  practically  carried  up  the  front 
steps  by  his  body-servant,  and  the  subsequent  arrival 
Dr.  Teackle  on  the  double  quick-was  a  sight  so 
unusual   m    and  around  peaceful   Kennedy  Square 
that  it  is  not  surprising  that  all  sorts  of  reports-most 
ot  them  alarming-reached  the  club  long  before  St 
George  had  been  comfortably  tucked  away  in  bed 

Various   versions   were  afloat:     "St.    George   was 

back  from  Wesley  with  a  touch  of  chills  and  fever-" 

St.  George  was  back  from  Wesley  with  a  load  of 

buckshot  in  his  right  arm-"     "St.  George  had  broken 

his  collar-bone  riding  to  hounds—"  etc. 

Richard  Horn  was  the  first  to  spring  to  his  feet- 
t  was  the  afternoon  hour  and  the  club  was  full— and 
cross  the  Square  on  the  run,  followed  by  Clayton 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Bowman,  and  two  or  three  others.  These,  with  one 
accord,  banged  away  on  the  knocker,  only  to  be  met 
by  Dr.  Teackle,  who  explained  that  there  was  nothing 
seriously  the  matter  with  Mr.  Temple,  except  an  at 
tack  of  foolhardiness  in  coming  up  the  bay  when  he 
should  have  stayed  in  bed — but  even  that  should  cause 
his  friends  no  uneasiness,  as  he  was  still  as  tough  as  a 
lightwood  knot,  and  bubbling  over  with  good  humor; 
all  he  needed  was  rest,  and  that  he  must  have — so 
please  everybody  come  to-morrow. 

By  the  next  morning  the  widening  of  ripples  caused 
by  the  dropping  of  a  high-grade  invalid  into  the  still 
pool  of  Kennedy  Square,  spread  with  such  force  and 
persistency  that  one  wavelet  overflowed  Kate's  dress 
ing-room.  Indeed,  it  came  in  with  Mammy  Henny 
and  her  coffee. 

"  Marse  George  home,  honey — Ben  done  see  Todd. 
Got  a  mis'ry  in  his  back  dat  bad  it  tuk  two  gjemmens 
to  tote  him  up  de  steps." 

"Uncle  George  home,  and  ill!" 

That  was  enough  for  Kate.  She  didn't  want  any 
coffee — she  didn't  want  any  toast  or  muffins,  or  hom 
iny — she  wanted  her  shoes  and  stockings  and —  Yes 
everything,  and  quick! — and  would  Mammy  Henny 
call  Ben  and  send  him  right  away  to  Mr.  Temple's  and 
find  out  how  her  dear  Uncle  George  had  passed  the 
night,  and  give  him  her  dearest  love  and  tell  him  she 
would  come  right  over  to  see  him  the  moment  she  could 
get  into  her  clothes;  and  could  she  send  any  thing  for  him 
to  eat;  and  did  the  doctor  think  it  was  dangerous — ? 

450 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Yes — and  Ben  must  keep  on  to  Dr.  Teackle's  and 
find  out  if  it  was  dangerous — and  say  to  him  that  Miss 
Seymour  wanted  to  know  immediately,  and — "  (Here 
the  poor  child  lost  her  breath,  she  was  dressing  all 
the  time,  Mammy  Kenny's  fingers  and  ears  doing 
their  best)  "and  tell  Mr.  Temple,  too,"  she  rushed 
on,  "  that  he  must  send  word  by  Ben  for  anything  and 
everything  he  needed"  (strong  accent  on  the  two 
words)  ...  all  of  which  was  repeated  through  the 
crack  of  the  door  to  patient  Ben  when  he  presented 
himself,  with  the  additional  assurance  that  he  must 
tell  Mr.  Temple  it  wouldn't  be  five  minutes  before 
she  would  be  with  him — as  she  was  nearly  dressed,  all 
but  her  hair. 

She  was  right  about  her  good  intentions,  but  she 
was  wrong  about  the  number  of  minutes  necessary 
to  carry  them  out.  There  was  her  morning  gown  to 
button,  and  her  gaiters  to  lace,  and  her  hair  to  be  brai 
ded  and  caught  up  in  her  neck  (she  always  wore  it  that 
way  in  the  morning)  and  the  dearest  of  snug  bonnets 
— a  "cabriolet"  from  Paris — a  sort  of  hood,  stiffened 
with  wires,  out  of  which  peeped  pink  rosebuds  quite 
as  they  do  from  a  trellis — had  to  be  put  on,  and  the 
white  strings  tied  "just  so" — the  bows  flaring  out 
and  the  long  ends  smoothed  flat;  and  then  the  lace 
cape  and  scarf  and  her  parasol; — all  these  and  a  dozen 
other  little  niceties  had  to  be  adjusted  before  she 
could  trip  down  her  father's  stairs  and  out  of  her 
father's  swinging  gate  and  on  through  the  park  to  her 
dear  Uncle  George. 

451 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

But  when  she  did — and  it  took  her  all  of  an  hour — 
nothing  that  the  morning  sun  shone  on  was  quite 
as  lovely,  and  no  waft  of  air  so  refreshing  or  so 
welcome  as  our  beloved  heroine  when  she  burst  in 
upon  him. 

"Oh! — you  dear,  dear  thing !"  she  cried,  tossing 
her  parasol  on  Pawson's  table  and  stretching  out  her 
arms  toward  him  sitting  in  his  chair.  "Oh,  I  am 
so  sorry!  Why  didn't  you  let  me  know  you  were  ill? 
I  would  have  gone  down  to  Wesley.  Oh! — I  knew 
something  was  the  matter  with  you  or  you  would  have 
answered  my  letters." 

He  had  struggled  to  his  feet  at  the  first  sound  of 
her  footsteps  in  the  hall,  and  had  her  in  his  arms  long 
before  she  had  finished  her  greeting; — indeed  her  last 
sentence  was  addressed  to  the  collar  of  his  coat  against 
which  her  cheek  was  cushioned. 

"Who  said  I  was  ill?"  he  asked  with  one  of  his 
bubbling  laughs  when  he  got  his  breath. 

"Todd  told  Ben — and  you  are! — and  it  breaks  my 
heart."  She  was  holding  herself  off  now,  scanning  his 
pale  face  and  shrunken  frame — "Oh,  I  am  so  sorry 
you  did  not  let  me  know!" 

"Todd  is  a  chatterer,  and  Ben  no  better;  I've  only 
had  a  bad  cold — and  you  couldn't  have  done  me  a 
bit  of  good  if  you  had  come — and  now  I  am  entirely 
well,  never  felt  better  in  my  life.  Oh — but  it's  good 
to  get  hold  of  you,  Kate, — and  you  are  still  the  same 
bunch  of  roses.  Sit  down  now  and  tell  me  all  about 
it.  I  wish  I  had  a  better  chair  for  you,  my  dear,  but 

452 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

the  place  is  quite  dismantled,  as  you  see.  I  expected 
to  stay  the  winter  when  I  left." 

She  had  not  given  a  thought  to  the  chair  or  to  the 
changes — had  not  even  noticed  them.  That  the  room 
was  stripped  of  its  furniture  prior  to  a  long  stay  was 
what  invariably  occurred  in  her  own  house  every 
summer:  it  was  her  precious  uncle's  pale,  shrunken 
face  and  the  blue  veins  that  showed  in  the  backs  of 
his  dear  transparent  hands  which  she  held  between 
her  own,  and  the  thin,  emaciated  wrists  that  ab 
sorbed  her. 

"You  poor,  dear  Uncle  George!"  she  purred — 
"  and  nobody  to  look  after  you."  He  had  drawn  up 
Pawson's  chair  and  had  placed  her  in  it  beside  the 
one  he  sat  in,  and  had  then  dropped  slowly  into  his 
own,  the  better  to  hide  from  her  his  weakness — but  it 
did  not  deceive  her.  "I'm  going  to  have  you  put 
back  to  bed  this  very  minute;  you  are  not  strong 
enough  to  sit  up.  Let  me  call  Aunt  Jemima." 

St.  George  shook  his  head  good-naturedly  in  denial 
and  smoothed  her  hands  with  his  fingers. 

"Call  nobody  and  do  nothing  but  sit  beside  me 
and  let  me  look  into  your  face  and  listen  to  your  voice. 
I  have  been  pretty  badly  shaken  up;  had  two  weeks 
of  it  that  couldn't  have  been  much  worse — but  since 
then  I  have  been  on  the  mend  and  am  getting  stronger 
every  minute.  I  haven't  had  any  medicine  and  I 
don't  want  any  now — I  just  want  you  and — "  he  hesi 
tated,  and  seeing  nothing  in  her  eyes  of  any  future 
hope  for  Harry,  finished  the  sentence,  with  "and  one 

453 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

or  two  others  to  sit  by  me  and  cheer  me  up;  that's 
better  than  all  the  doctors  in  the  world.  And  now, 
first  about  your  father  and  then  about  yourself." 

"  Oh,  he's  very  well,"  she  rejoined  absently.  "He's 
off  somewhere,  went  away  two  days  ago.  He'll  be 
back  in  a  week.  But  you  must  have  something  to  eat 
— good  things!" — her  mind  still  occupied  with  his  con 
dition.  "I'm  going  to  have  some  chicken  broth  made 
the  moment  I  get  home  and  it  will  be  sent  fresh  every 
day:  and  you  must  eat  every  bit  of  it!" 

Again  St.  George's  laugh  rang  out.  He  had  let  her 
run  on — it  was  music  to  his  ears — that  he  might  later 
on  find  some  clue  on  which  he  could  frame  a  question 
he  had  been  revolving  in  his  mind  ever  since  he  heard 
her  voice  in  the  hall.  He  would  not  tell  her  about 
Harry — better  wait  until  he  could  read  her  thoughts 
the  clearer.  If  he  could  discover  by  some  roundabout 
way  that  she  would  still  refuse  to  see  him  it  would  be 
best  not  to  embarrass  her  with  any  such  request;  es 
pecially  on  this  her  first  visit. 

"Yes — I'll  eat  anything  and  everything  you  send 
me,  you  dear  Kate — and  many  thanks  to  you,  provided 
you'll  come  with  it — you  are  the  best  broth  for  me. 
But  you  haven't  answered  my  question — not  all  of  it. 
What  have  you  been  doing  since  I  left?" 

"  Wondering  whether  you  would  forgive  me  for  the 
rude  way  in  which  I  left  you  the  last  time  I  saw  you, — 
the  night  of  Mr.  Horn's  reading,  for  one  thing.  I 
went  off  with  Mr.  Willits  and  never  said  a  word  to 
you.  I  wrote  you  a  letter  telling  you  how  sorry  I  was, 

454 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

but  you  never  answered  it,  and  that  made  me  more 
anxious  than  ever." 

"  What  foolishness,  Kate!  I  never  got  it,  of  course, 
or  you  would  have  heard  from  me  right  away.  A 
number  of  my  letters  have  gone  astray  of  late.  But 
I  don't  remember  a  thing  about  it,  except  that  you 
walked  off  with  your — "  again  he  hesitated — "with 
Mr.  Willits,  which,  of  course,  was  the  most  natural 
thing  for  you  to  do  in  the  world.  How  is  he,  by  the 
way?" 

Kate  drew  back  her  shoulders  with  that  quick 
movement  common  to  her  when  some  antagonism  in 
her  mind  preceded  her  spoken  word. 

"  I  don't  know — I  haven't  seen  him  for  some  weeks." 

St.  George  started  in  his  chair:  "You  haven't! 
He  isn't  ill,  is  he?" 

"No,  I  think  not,"  she  rejoined  calmly. 

"  Oh,  then  he  has  gone  down  to  his  father's.  Yes, 
I  remember  he  goes  quite  often,"  he  ventured. 

"  No,  I  think  he  is  still  here."  Her  gaze  was  on  the 
window  as  she  spoke,  through  which  could  be  seen 
the  tops  of  the  trees  glistening  in  the  sunlight. 

"And  you  haven't  seen  him?  Why?"  asked  St. 
George  wonderingly — he  was  not  sure  he  had  heard 
her  aright. 

"I  told  him  not  to  come,"  she  replied  in  a  positive 
tone. 

St.  George  settled  back  in  his  chair.  Had  there 
been  a  clock  in  the  room  its  faintest  tick  would  have 
rung  out  like  a  trip-hammer. 

455 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Then  you  have  had  a  quarrel:  he  has  broken  his 
promise  to  you  and  got  drunk  again." 

"No,  he  has  never  broken  it;  he  has  kept  it  as 
faithfully  as  Harry  kept  his." 

"You  don't  mean,  Kate,  that  you  have  broken  off 
your  engagement?" 

She  reached  over  and  picked  up  her  parasol :  "  There 
never  was  any  engagement.  I  have  always  felt  sorry 
for  Mr.  Willits  and  tried  my  best  to  love  him  and 
couldn't — that  is  all.  He  understands  it  perfectly;  we 
both  do.  It  was  one  of  the  things  that  couldn't  be." 

All  sorts  of  possibilities  surged  one  after  the  other 
through  the  old  diplomat's  mind.  A  dim  light  in 
creasing  in  intensity  began  to  shine  about  him.  What 
it  meant  he  dared  not  hope.  "  What  does  your  father 
say  ?  "  he  asked  slowly,  after  a  pause  in  which  he  had 
followed  every  expression  that  crossed  her  face. 

"  Nothing — and  it  wouldn't  alter  the  case  if  he  did. 
I  am  the  best  judge  of  what  is  good  for  me."  There 
was  a  certain  finality  in  her  cadences  that  repelled 
all  further  discussion.  He  remembered  having  heard 
the  same  ring  before. 

"When  did  all  this  happen? — this  telling  him  not 
to  come?"  he  persisted,  determined  to  widen  the  in 
quiry.  His  mind  was  still  unable  to  fully  grasp  the 
situation. 

"  About  five  weeks  ago.  Do  you  want  to  know  the 
very  night?"  She  turned  her  head  as  she  spoke  and 
looked  at  him  with  her  full,  deep  eyes. 

"Yes,  if  you  wish  me  to." 
456 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"The  night  Mr.  Horn  read  'The  Cricket  on  the 
Hearth/  "  she  answered  in  a  tone  of  relief — as  if 
some  great  crisis  had  marked  the  hour,  the  passing 
of  which  had  brought  her  infinite  peace.  "  I  told  him 
when  I  got  home,  and  I  have  never  seen  him  since." 

For  some  seconds  St.  George  did  not  move.  He 
had  turned  from  her  and  sat  with  his  head  resting 
on  his  hand,  his  eyes  intent  on  the  smouldering  fire: 
he  dare  not  trust  himself  to  speak;  wide  ranges 
opened  before  him;  the  light  had  strengthened  until 
it  was  blinding.  Kate  sat  motionless,  her  hands  in 
her  lap,  her  eyes  searching  St.  George's  face  for  some 
indication  of  the  effect  of  her  news.  Then  finding 
him  still  silent  and  absorbed  in  his  thoughts,  she 
went  on: 

"There  was  nothing  else  to  do,  Uncle  George.  I 
had  done  all  I  could  to  please  my  father  and  one  or  two 
of  my  friends.  There  was  nothing  against  him — he 
was  very  kind  and  very  considerate — but  somehow 
I —  She  paused  and  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Somehow  what?"  demanded  St.  George  raising 
his  head  quickly  and  studying  her  the  closer.  The 
situation  was  becoming  vital  now — too  vital  for  any 
further  delay. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know — I  couldn't  love  him — that's 
all.  He  has  many  excellent  qualities — too  many  may 
be,"  and  she  smiled  faintly.  "You  know  I  never 
liked  people  who  were  too  good — that  is,  too  willing 
to  do  everything  you  wanted  them  to  do — especially 
men  who  ought  really  to  be  masters  and — '  She 

457 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

stopped  and  played  with  the  top  of  her  parasol,  smooth 
ing  the  knob  with  her  palm  as  if  the  better  to  straighten 
out  the  tangle  in  her  mind.  "  I  expect  you  will  think 
me  queer,  Uncle  George,  but  I  have  come  to  the  con 
clusion  that  I  will  never  love  anybody  again — I  am 
through  with  all  that.  It's  very  hard,  you  know,  to 
mend  a  thing  when  it's  broken.  I  used  to  say  to  my 
self  that  when  I  grew  to  be  a  woman  I  supposed  I 
would  love  as  any  other  woman  seemed  content  to 
love;  that  no  romance  of  a  young  girl  was  ever  realized 
and  that  they  could  only  be  found  in  love  stories.  But 
my  theories  all  went  to  pieces  when  I  heard  Mr.  Horn 
that  night.  Dot's  love  for  John  the  Carrier — I  have 
read  it  so  often  since  that  I  know  the  whole  story  by 
heart — Dot's  love  for  John  was  the  real  thing,  but 
May  Fielding's  love  for  Tackleton  wasn't.  And  it 
seemed  so  wonderful  when  her  lover  came  home  and 
— it's  foolish,  I  know — very  silly — that  I  should  have 
been  so  moved  by  just  the  reading  of  a  story — but  it's 
true.  It  takes  only  a  very  little  to  push  you  over 
when  you  are  on  the  edge,  and  I  had  been  on  the  edge 
for  a  long  time.  But  don't  let  us  talk  about  it,  dear 
Uncle  George,"  she  added  with  a  forced  smile.  "  I'm 
going  to  take  care  of  you  now  and  be  a  charming  old 
maid  with  side  curls  and  spectacles  and  make  flannel 
things  for  the  poor — you  just  wait  and  see  what  a  com 
fort  I  will  be."  Her  lips  were  trembling,  the  tears 
crowding  over  the  edges  of  her  lids. 

St.  George  stretched  out  his  hand  and  in  his  kindest 
voice  said: 

458 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"  Was  it  the  carrier  and  his  wife,  or  was  it  the  sailor 
boy  who  came  back  so  fine  and  strong,  that  affected 
you,  Kate? — and  made  you  give  up  Mr.  Willits?" 
He  would  go  to  the  bottom  now. 

"It  was  everything,  Uncle  George — the  sweetness 
of  it  all — her  pride  in  her  husband — his  doubts  of  her 
— her  repentance;  and  yet  she  did  what  she  thought 
was  for  the  best;  and  then  his  forgiveness  and  the  way 
he  wanted  to  take  her  in  his  arms  at  last  and  she  would 
not  until  she  explained.  And  there  was  nothing  really 
to  explain — only  love,  and  trust,  and  truth — all  the 
time  believing  in  him — loving  him.  Oh,  it  is  cruel 
to  part  people — it's  so  mean  and  despicable!  There 
are  so  many  Tackletons — and  the  May  Fieldings  go 
to  the  altar  and  so  on  to  their  graves — and  there  is 
often  such  a  very  little  difference  between  the  two.  I 
never  gave  my  promise  to  Mr.  Willits.  I  would  not! 
— I  could  not!  He  kept  hoping  and  waiting.  He  was 
very  gentle  and  patient — he  never  coaxed  nor  pleaded, 
but  just —  Oh,  Uncle  George ! — let  me  talk  it  all  out — 
I  have  nobody  else.  I  missed  you  so,  and  there  was 
no  one  who  could  understand,  and  you  wouldn't  an 
swer  my  letters."  She  was  crying  softly  to  herself, 
her  beautiful  head  resting  on  her  elbow  pillowed  on 
the  back  of  his  chair. 

He  leaned  forward  the  closer:  he  loved  this  girl 
next  best  to  Harry.  Her  sorrows  were  his  own. 
Was  it  all  coming  out  as  he  had  hoped  and  prayed 
for?  He  could  hardly  restrain  himself  in  his  eager 
ness. 

459 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Did  you  miss  anybody  else,  Kate?"  There  was 
a  peculiar  tenderness  in  his  voice. 

She  did  not  raise  her  head  nor  did  she  answer.  St. 
George  waited  and  repeated  the  question,  slipping  his 
hand  over  hers,  as  he  spoke. 

"  It  was  the  loneliness,  Uncle  George,"  she  replied, 
evading  his  inference.  "  I  tried  to  forget  it  all,  and  I 
threw  open  our  house  and  gave  parties  and  dances — 
hardly  a  week  but  there  has  been  something  going 
on — but  nothing  did  any  good.  I  have  been — yes — 
wretchedly  unhappy  and—  No,  it  will  only  distress 
you  to  hear  it — don't  let's  talk  any  more  about  it.  I 
won't  let  you  go  away  again.  I'll  go  away  with  you 
if  you  don't  get  better  soon,  anywhere  you  say.  We'll 
go  down  to  the  White  Sulphur —  Yes — we'll  go  there. 
The  air  is  so  bracing — it  wouldn't  be  a  week  before 
all  the  color  would  come  back  to  your  cheeks  and  you 
be  as  strong  as  ever." 

He  was  not  listening.  His  mind  was  framing  a 
question — one  he  must  ask  without  committing  him 
self  or  her.  He  was  running  a  parallel,  really — read 
ing  her  heart  by  a  flank  movement. 

"Kate,  dear?"  He  had  regained  his  position  al 
though  he  still  kept  hold  of  her  hand. 

"Yes,  Uncle  George." 

"Did  you  write  to  Harry,  as  I  asked  you?" 

"No,  it  wouldn't  have  done  any  good.  I  have 
had  troubles  enough  of  my  own  without  adding  any 
to  his." 

"Were  you  afraid  he  would  not  answer  it?" 
460 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

She  lifted  her  head  and  tightened  her  fingers  about 
his  own,  her  wet  eyes  looking  into  his. 

"I  was  afraid  of  myself.  I  have  never  known  my 
own  mind  and  I  don't  know  it  now.  I  have  played 
fast  and  loose  with  everybody — I  can't  bind  up  a  broken 
arm  and  then  break  it  again." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  try?"   he  said  softly. 
'"No,  I  don't  think  so." 

St.  George  released  her  hand  and  settled  back  in  his 
chair;  his  face  grew  grave.  What  manner  of  woman 
was  this,  and  how  could  he  reach  the  inner  kernel  of 
her  heart?  Again  he  raised  his  head  and  leaning 
forward  took  both  her  hands  between  his  own. 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  story,  Kate — one  you  have 
never  heard — not  all  of  it.  When  I  was  about  your 
age — a  little  older  perhaps,  I  gave  my  heart  to  a  woman 
who  had  known  me  from  a  boy;  with  whom  I  had 
played  when  she  was  a  child.  I'm  not  going  into  the 
whole  story,  such  things  are  always  sad;  nor  will  I 
tell  you  anything  of  the  beginning  of  the  three  happy 
months  of  our  betrothal  nor  of  what  caused  our  sepa 
ration.  I  shall  only  tell  you  of  the  cruelty  of  the  end. 
There  was  a  misunderstanding — a  quarrel — I  begging 
her  forgiveness  on  my  knees.  All  the  time  her  heart 
was  breaking.  One  little  word  from  her  would  have 
healed  everything.  Some  years  after  that  she  married 
and  her  life  still  goes  on.  I  am  what  you  see." 

Kate  looked  at  him  with  swimming  eyes.  She 
dimly  remembered  that  she  had  heard  that  her  uncle 
had  had  a  love  affair  in  his  youth  and  that  his  sweet- 

461 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

heart  had  jilted  him  for  a  richer  man,  but  she  had 
never  known  that  he  had  suffered  so  bitterly  over  it. 
Her  heart  went  out  to  him  all  the  more. 

"Will  you  tell  me  who  it  was?"  She  had  no  right 
to  ask;  but  she  might  comfort  him  the  better  if  she 
knew. 

"  Harry's  mother." 

Kate  dropped  his  hands  and  drew  back  in  her  seat. 

"You — loved — Mrs. — Rutter — and  she — refused  you 
for —  Oh! — what  a  cruel  thing  to  do!  And  what  a 
fool  she  was.  Now  I  know  why  you  have  been  so 
good  to  Harry.  Oh,  you  poor,  dear  Uncle  George. 
Oh,  to  think  that  you  of  all  men!  Is  there  any  one 
whose  heart  is  not  bruised  and  broken  ?  "  she  added  in 
a  helpless  tone. 

"  Plenty  of  them,  Kate — especially  those  who  have 
been  willing  to  stoop  a  little  and  so  triumph.  Harry 
has  waited  three  years  for  some  word  from  you;  he 
has  not  asked  for  it,  for  he  believes  you  have  forgotten 
him;  and  then  he  was  too  much  of  a  man  to  encroach 
upon  another's  rights.  Does  your  breaking  off  with 
Mr.  Willits  alter  the  case  in  any  way? — does  it  make 
any  difference  ?  Is  this  sailor  boy  always  to  be  a  wan 
derer — never  to  come  home  to  his  people  and  the 
woman  he  loves?" 

"  He'll  never  come  back  to  me,  Uncle  George,"  she 
said  with  a  shudder,  dropping  her  eyes.  "  I  found  that 
out  the  day  we  talked  together  in  the  park,  just  before  he 
left.  And  he's  not  coming  home.  Father  got  a  letter 
from  one  of  his  agents  who  had  seen  him.  He  was  look- 

462 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

ing  very  well  and  was  going  up  into  the  mountains 
— I  wrote  you  about  it.  I  am  sorry  you  didn't  get  the 
letter — but  of  course  he  has  written  you  too." 

"Suppose  I  should  tell  you  that  he  would  come 
back  if  he  thought  you  would  be  glad  to  see  him — 
glad  in  the  old  way?" 

Kate  shook  her  head:  "He  would  never  come. 
He  hates  me,  and  I  don't  blame  him.  I  hate  myself 
when  I  think  of  it  all." 

"But  if  he  should  walk  in  now?" — he  was  very 
much  afraid  he  would,  and  he  was  not  quite  ready  for 
him  yet.  What  he  was  trying  to  find  out  was  not 
whether  Kate  would  be  glad  to  see  Harry  as  a  relief 
to  her  loneliness,  but  whether  she  really  loved  him. 

Some  tone  in  his  voice  caught  her  ear.  She  turned 
her  head  quickly  and  looked  at  him  with  wondering 
gaze,  as  if  she  would  read  his  inmost  thoughts. 

"  You  mean  that  he  is  coming,  Uncle  George — that 
Harry  is  coming  home ! "  she  exclaimed  excitedly,  the 
color  ebbing  from  her  cheeks. 

"He  is  already  here,  Kate.  He  slept  upstairs  in 
his  old  room  last  night.  I  expect  him  in  any  minute." 

"Here! — in  this  room!"  She  was  on  her  feet  in  an 
instant,  her  face  deathly  pale,  her  whole  frame  shak 
ing.  Which  way  should  she  turn  to  escape?  To 
meet  him  face  to  face  would  bring  only  excruciating 
pain.  "Oh,  why  didn't  you  tell  me,  Uncle  George!" 
she  burst  out.  "  I  won't  see  him!  I  can't! — not  now 
— not  here!  Let  me  go  home — let  me  think!  No — 
don't  stop  me!"  and  catching  up  her  cape  and  parasol 

463 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

she  was  out  the  door  and  down  the  steps  before  he 
could  call  her  back  or  even  realize  that  she  had  gone. 

Once  on  the  pavement  she  looked  nervously  up  and 
down  the  street,  gathered  her  pretty  skirts  tight  in  her 
hand  and  with  the  fluttered  flight  of  a  scared  bird  darted 
across  the  park,  dashed  through  her  swinging  gate, 
and  so  on  up  to  her  bedroom. 

There  she  buried  her  face  in  Mammy  Henny's  lap 
and  burst  into  an  agony  of  tears. 

While  all  this  had  been  going  on  upstairs  another 
equally  important  conference  was  taking  place  in 
Pawson's  office  below,  where  Harry  at  Pawson's  re 
quest  had  gone  to  meet  Gadgem  and  talk  over  certain 
plans  for  his  uncle's  future  welfare.  He  had  missed 
Kate  by  one  of  those  trifling  accidents  which  often 
determine  the  destiny  of  nations  and  of  men.  Had 
he,  after  attending  to  the  business  of  the  morning — (he 
had  been  down  to  Marsh  Market  with  Todd  for  sup 
plies) — mounted  the  steps  to  see  his  uncle  instead  of 
yielding  to  a  sudden  impulse  to  interview  Pawson  first 
and  his  uncle  afterward,  he  would  have  come  upon 
Kate  at  the  very  moment  she  was  pouring  out  her 
heart  to  St.  George. 

But  no  such  fatality  or  stroke  of  good  fortune — 
whatever  the  gods  had  in  store  for  him — took  place. 
On  the  contrary  he  proceeded  calmly  to  carry  out  the 
details  of  a  matter  of  the  utmost  importance  to  all 
concerned — one  in  which  both  Pawson  and  Gadgem 
were  interested — (indeed  he  had  come  at  Pawson's 

464 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

suggestion  to  discuss  its  details  with  the  collector  and 
himself) : — all  of  which  the  Scribe  promises  in  all  honor 
to  reveal  to  his  readers  before  the  whole  of  this  story 
is  told. 

Harry  walked  straight  up  to  Gadgem: 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Gadgem,"  he  said 
in  his  manly,  friendly  way.  "You  have  been  very 
good  to  my  uncle,  and  I  want  to  thank  you  both  for 
him  and  for  myself,"  and  he  shook  the  little  man's 
hand  heartily. 

Gadgem  blushed.  St.  George's  democracy  he  could 
understand;  but  why  this  aristocrat — outcast  as  he 
had  once  been,  but  now  again  in  favor — why  this 
young  prince,  the  heir  to  Moorlands  and  the  first  young 
blood  of  his  time,  should  treat  him  as  an  equal,  puzzled 
him;  and  yet,  somehow,  his  heart  warmed  to  him  as 
he  read  his  sincerity  in  his  eyes  and  voice. 

"Thank  you,  sir — thank  you  very  much,  sir,"  re 
joined  Gadgem,  with  a  folding-camp-stool-movement, 
his  back  bent  at  right  angles  with  his  legs.  "  I  really 
don't  deserve  it,  sir.  Mr.  Temple  is  an  extraordinary 
man,  sir;  the  most  extraordinary  man  I  have  ever  met, 
sir.  Give  you  the  shirt  off  his  back,  sir,  and  go  naked 
himself." 

"Yes,  he  gave  it  to  me,"  laughed  Harry,  greatly 
amused  at  the  collector's  effusive  manner:  He  had 
never  seen  this  side  of  Gadgem.  "That,  of  course, 
you  know  all  about — you  paid  the  bills,  I  believe." 

"Precisely  so,  sir."  He  had  lengthened  out  now 
with  a  spiral-spring,  cork-screw  twist  in  his  body,  his 

465 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

index  finger  serving  as  point.  "  Paid  every  one  of  them. 
He  never  cared,  sir — he  gloried  in  it — gloried  in  being 
a  pauper,  ^accountable,  Mr.  Rutter — enormously 
unaccountable.  Never  heard  of  such  a  case;  never 
will  hear  of  such  a  case.  So  what  was  to  be  done, 
sir  ?  Just  what  I  may  state  is  being  done  this  minute 
over  our  heads  upstairs":  and  out  went  the  index 
finger.  "Rest  and  recuperation,  sir — a  slow — a  very 
slow  use  of  available  assets  until  new  and  further 
available  assets  could  become  visible.  And  they  are 
here,  sir — have  arrived.  You  may  have  heard,  of 
course,  of  the  Patapsco  where  Mr.  Temple  kept  the 
largest  part  of  his  fortune." 

"No,  except  that  it  about  ruined  everybody  who 
had  anything  to  do  with  it." 

"Then  you  have  heard  nothing  of  the  resuscita 
tion!"  cried  Gadgem,  all  his  fingers  opened  like  a  fan, 
his  eyebrows  arched  to  the  roots  of  his  hair.  "You 
surprise  me!  And  you  are  really  ignorant  of  the 
p^o?nix-like  way  in  which  it  has  men  from  its  ashes  ? 
I  said  risen,  sir,  because  it  is  now  but  a  dim  speck  in 
the  financial  sky.  Nor  the  appointment  of  Mr.  John 
Gorsuch  as  manager,  ably  backed  by  your  distin 
guished  father — the  setting  of  the  bird  upon  its  legs — 
I'm  speaking  of  the  burnt  bird,  sir,  the  phcemx.  I'm 
quite  sure  it  was  a  bird —  Nor  the  payment  on  the  first 
of  the  ensuing  month  of  some  eighty  per  cent  of  the 
amounts  due  the  original  depositors  and  another 
twenty  per  cent  in  one  year  thereafter — The  cancelling 
of  the  mortgage  which  your  most  benevolent  and  Aon- 

466 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

orable  father  bought,  and  the  sly  trick  of  Gorsuch — 
letting  Fogbin,  who  never  turned  up,  become  the  sham 
tenant — and  the  joy " 

"Hold  on  Mr.  Gadgem — Fm  not  good  at  figures. 
Give  me  that  over  again  and  speak  slower.  Am  I  to 
understand  that  the  bank  will  pay  back  to  my  uncle, 
within  a  day  or  so,  three-quarters  of  the  money  they 
stole  from  him?" 

"Stole,  sir!"  chided  Gadgem,  his  outstretched  fore 
finger  wig- wagging  a  Fie!  Fie!  gesture  of  disapproval 
— "  Stole  is  not  a  pretty  word — actionable,  sir — danger 
ously  actionable — a  question  of  the  watch-house,  and, 
if  I  might  be  permitted  to  say — a  bit  of  cold  lead — 
Perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  suggest  the  word '  manip 
ulated/  sir — the  money  the  bank  manipulated  from 
your  confiding  and  inexperienced  uncle — that  is  safer 
and  it  is  equally  expressive.  He!  He!" 

"Well,  will  he  get  the  money?"  cried  Harry,  his 
face  lighting  up,  his  interest  in  the  outcome  outweigh 
ing  his  amusement  over  Gadgem's  antics  and  expres 
sions. 

"  He  will,  sir,"  rejoined  Gadgem  decisively. 

"  And  you  are  so  sure  of  it  that  you  would  be  willing 
to  advance  one-half  the  amount  if  the  account  was 
turned  over  to  you  this  minute  ?"  cried  Harry  eagerly. 

"  No  sir — not  one-half — all  of  it — less  a  trifling  com 
mission  for  my  services  of  say  one  per  cent.  When 
you  say  '  this  minute/  sir,  I  must  reply  that  the  brevity 
of  the  area  of  action  becomes  a  trifle  acute,  yes,  a/arra- 
ingly  acute.  I  haven't  the  money  myself,  sir — that 

467 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

is,  not  about  my  person — but  I  can  get  it  in  an 
hour,  sir — in  less  time,  if  Mr.  Temple  is  willing. 
That  was  my  purpose  in  coming  here,  sir — that  was 
why  Mr.  Pawson  sent  for  me,  sir;  and  it  is  but  fair  to 
say  that  you  can  thank  your  distinguished  father  for  it 
all,  sir — he  has  worked  night  and  day  to  do  it.  Colo 
nel  Rutter  has  taken  over — so  I  am  informed — I'm  not 
sure,  but  I  am  informed — taken  over  a  lot  of  the  secu 
rities  himself  so  that  he  could  do  it.  Another  ex 
traordinary  combination,  if  you  will  permit  me  to  say 
so — I  refer  to  your  father — a  man  who  will  show  you 
his  door  one  minute  and  open  his  pocketbook  and  his 
best  bottle  of  wine  for  you  the  next,"  and  he  plunged 
himself  down  in  his  seat  with  so  determined  a  gesture 
that  it  left  no  question  on  Harry's  mind  that  he  in 
tended  sitting  it  out  until  daylight  should  there  be  the 
faintest  possibility  of  his  financial  proposition  being 
accepted. 

Harry  walked  to  the  window  and  gazed  out  on  the 
trees.  There  was  no  doubt  now  that  Mr.  Temple 
was  once  more  on  his  feet.  "Uncle  George  will  go 
now  to  Moorlands,"  he  said,  decisively,  in  a  low  tone, 
speaking  to  himself,  his  heart  swelling  with  pride  nt 
this  fresh  evidence  of  his  father's  high  sense  of  honor 
— then  he  wheeled  and  addressed  the  attorney: 

"Shall  I  tell  Mr.  Temple  this  news,  about  the  Pat- 
apsco  Bank,  Mr.  Pawson?" 

"Yes,  if  you  think  best,  Mr.  Rutter.  And  I  here 
another  piece  of  good  news.  This  please  do  not  tell 
Mr.  Temple,  not  yet — not  until  it  is  definitely  settled. 

468 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

That  old  suit  in  Chancery  has  been  decided,  or  will 
be,  so  I  learned  this  morning  and  decided  in  favor  of  the 
heir.  You  may  not  have  heard  of  it  before,  Gadgem," 
and  he  turned  to  the  collector,  "but  it  is  one  of  old 
General  Dorsey  Temple's  left-overs.  It  has  been  in 
the  courts  now  some  forty  years.  When  this  decision 
is  made  binding,"  here  he  again  faced  Harry — "Mr. 
Temple  comes  in  for  a  considerable  share." 

Gadgem  jumped  to  his  feet  and  snapped  his  fingers 
rapidly.  Had  he  sat  on  a  tack  his  rebound  could  not 
have  been  more  sudden.  This  last  was  news  to  him. 

"Shorn  lamb,  sir!"  he  cried  gleefully,  rubbing  his 
palms  together,  his  body  tied  into  a  double  bow-knot. 
"  Gentle  breezes;  bread  upon  the  waters!  By  jimmy  ? 
Mr.  Rutter,  if  Mr.  Temple  could  be  born  again — figura 
tively,  sir — and  I  could  walk  in  upon  him  as  I  once  did, 
and  find  him  at  breakfast  surrounded  by  all  his  com 
forts  with  Todd  waiting  upon  him — a  very  good  nigger 
is  Todd,  sir — an  exceptionally  good  nigger — I'd — I'd 
— damn  me,  Mr.  Rutter,  I'd — well,  sir,  there's  no 
word — but  John  Gadgem,  sir — well,  I'll  be  damned 
if  he  wouldn't — "  and  he  began  skipping  about  the 
room,  both  feet  in  the  air,  as  if  he  was  a  boy  of  twenty 
Instead  of  a  thin,  shambling,  badly  put  together  bill 
collector  in  an  ill-fitting  brown  coat,  a  hat  much  the 
worse  for  wear,  and  a  red  cotton  handkerchief  addicted 
to  weekly  ablutions. 

As  for  Harry  the  glad  news  had  cleared  out  wide 
spaces  before  him,  such  as  he  had  not  looked  through 
in  years ;  leafy  vistas,  with  glimpses  of  sunlit  meadows ; 

469 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

shadow-flecked  paths  leading  to  manor-houses  with 
summer  skies  beyond.  He,  too,  was  on  his  feet,  walk 
ing  restlessly  up  and  down. 

Pawson  and  Gadgem  again  put  their  heads  together, 
Harry  stopping  to  listen.  Such  expressions  as  "Cer 
tainly,"  "I  think  I  can":  "Yes,  of  course  it  was  there 
when  I  was  last  in  his  place,"  "  Better  see  him  first," 
caught  his  ear. 

At  last  he  could  stand  it  no  longer.  Dr.  Teackle  or 
no  Dr.  Teackle,  he  would  go  upstairs,  open  the  door 
softly,  and  if  his  uncle  was  awake  whisper  the  good 
news  in  his  ear.  If  anybody  had  whispered  any  such 
similar  good  news  in  his  ear  on  any  one  of  the  weary 
nights  he  had  lain  awake  waiting  for  the  dawn,  or  at 
any  time  of  the  day  when  he  sat  his  horse,  his  rifle 
across  the  pommel,  it  would  have  made  another  man 
of  him. 

If  his  uncle  was  awake! 

He  was  not  only  awake,  but  he  was  very  much  alive. 

"I've  got  a  great  piece  of  news  for  you,  Uncle 
George!"  Harry  shouted  in  a  rollicking  tone,  his  joy 
increasing  as  he  noted  his  uncle's  renewed  strength. 

"So  have  I  got  a  great  piece  of  news  for  you!"  was 
shouted  back.  "  Come  in,  you  young  rascal,  and  shut 
that  door  behind  you.  She  isn't  going  to  marry 
Willits.  Thrown  him  over — don't  want  him — don't 
love  him — can't  love  him — never  did  love  him!  She's 
just  told  me  so.  Whoop — hurrah !  !  Dance,  you  dog, 
before  I  throw  this  chair  at  you!  !" 

There  are  some  moments  in  a  man's  life  when  all 
470 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

language  fails;— pantomime  moments,  when  one  stares 
and  tries  to  speak  and  stares  again.  They  were  both 
at  it-St.  George  waiting  until  Harry  should  explode, 
and  Harry  trying  to  get  his  breath,  the  earth  opening 
under  him,  the  skies  falling  all  about  his  head. 

^She  told  you  so!     When!"  he  gasped. 

"  Two  minutes  ago— you've  just  missed  her!  Where 
the  devil  have  you  been?  Why  didn't  you  come  in 
before  ?  " 

"Kate  here— two  minutes  ago— what  will  I  do?" 
Had  he  found  himself  at  sea  in  an  open  boat  with  both 
oars  adrift  he  could  not  have  been  more  helpless. 

"Do I  Catch  her  before  she  gets  home!  Quick! 
-just  as  you  are— sailor  clothes  and  all!" 

"But  how  will  I  know  if ?" 

"You  don't  have  to  know!  Away  with  you,  I  tell 
you ! " 

And  away  he  went-and  if  you  will  believe  it,  dear 
reader-without  even  a  whisper  in  his  uncle's  ears  of 
the  good  news  he  had  come  to  tell. 


471 


CHAPTER  XXX 

Ben  let  him  in. 

He  came  as  an  apparition,  the  old  butler  balancing 
the  door  in  his  hand,  as  if  undecided  what  to  do,  try 
ing  to  account  for  the  change  in  the  young  man's 
appearance — the  width  of  shoulders,  the  rough  clothes, 
and  the  determined  glance  of  his  eye. 

"Fo'  Gawd,  it's  Marse  Harry!"  was  all  he  said 
when  he  could  get  his  mouth  open. 

"Yes,  Ben — go  and  tell  your  mistress  I  am  here," 
and  he  brushed  past  him  and  pushed  back  the  draw 
ing-room  door.  Once  inside  he  crossed  to  the  mantel 
and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  hearth,  his  sailor's  cap 
in  his  hand,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  door  he  had  just 
closed  behind  him.  Through  it  would  come  the  begin 
ning  or  the  end  of  his  life.  Ben's  noiseless  entrance 
and  exit  a  moment  after,  with  his  mistress's  message 
neither  raised  nor  depressed  his  hopes.  He  had  known 
all  along  she  would  not  refuse  to  see  him :  what  would 
come  after  was  the  wall  that  loomed  up. 

She  had  not  hesitated,  nor  did  she  keep  him  wait 
ing.  Her  eyes  were  still  red  with  weeping,  her  hair 
partly  dishevelled,  when  Ben  found  her — but  she  did 
not  seem  to  care.  Nor  was  she  frightened — nor  eager. 
She  just  lifted  her  cheek  from  Mammy  Kenny's  cares 
sing  hand — pushed  back  the  hair  from  her  face  with 

472 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

a  movement  as  if  she  was  trying  to  collect  her  thoughts, 
and  without  rising  from  her  knees  heard  Ben's  message 
to  the  end.  Then  she  answered  calmly: 

"Did  you  say  Mr.  Harry  Rutter,  Ben?     Tell  him 

I  be  down  in  a  moment." 

She  entered  with  that  same  graceful  movement  which 
he  loved  so  well-her  head  up,  her  face  turned  frankly 
toward  him,  one  hand  extended  in  welcome. 

"Uncle   George   told   me  you   were   back,   Harry 
t  was  very  good  of  you  to  come,"  and  sank  on  the 
sofa. 

It  had  been  but  a  few  steps  to  hirn-the  space  be 
tween  the  open  door  and  the  hearth  rug  on  which  he 
stood-and  it  had  taken  her  but  a  few  seconds  to  cross 
it,  but  m  that  brief  interval  the  heavens  had  opened 
above  her.     The  old  Harry  was  there-the  smile-the 
flash   m    the  eyes-the  joy  of  seeing  her-the  quick 
movement  of  his  hand  in  gracious  salute;  then  there 
had  followed  a  sense  of  his  strength,  of  the  calm  poise  of 
his  body,  of  the  clearness  of  his  skin.     She  saw,  too 
how  much  handsomer  he  had  grown -and  noted  the 
rough  sailor's  clothes.     How  well  they  fitted  his  robust 
frame!     And  the  clear,  calm  eyes  and  finely  cut  fea 
tures-no  shrinking  from  responsibility  in  that  face- 
no  faltering-the  old  ideal  of  her  early  love  and  the' 
new  ideal  of  her  sailor  boy-the  one  Richard's  voice 
had  conjured— welded  into  one  personality! 

"I  heard  you  had  just  been  in  to  see  Uncle  George 
Kate,  and  I  tried  to  overtake  you." 


473 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Not  much:  nothing  in  fact.  Play  writers  tell  us 
that  the  dramatic  situation  is  the  thing,  and  that  the 
spoken  word  is  as  unimportant  to  the  play  as  the  foot 
lights — except  as  a  means  of  illuminating  the  situation. 

"Yes — I  have  just  left  him,  Harry.  Uncle  George 
looks  very  badly — don't  you  think  so  ?  Is  there  any 
thing  very  serious  the  matter?  I  sent  Ben  to  Dr. 
Teackle's,  but  he  was  not  in  his  office." 

He  had  moved  up  a  chair  and  sat  devouring  every 
vibration  of  her  lips,  every  glance  of  her  wondrous 
eyes — all  the  little  movements  of  her  beautiful  body — 
her  dress — the  way  the  stray  strands  of  hair  had 
escaped  to  her  shoulders.  His  Kate! — and  yet  he 
dare  not  touch  her! 

"  No,  he  is  not  ill.  He  took  a  severe  cold  and  only 
Aeeds  rest  and  a  little  care.  I  am  glad  you  went 
and — "  then  the  pent-up  flood  broke  loose.  "Are 
you  glad  to  see  me,  Kate?" 

"  I  am  always  glad  to  see  you,  Harry — and  you  look 
so  well.  It  has  been  nearly  three  years,  hasn't  it?" 
Her  calmness  was  maddening;  she  spoke  as  if  she 
was  reciting  a  part  in  which  she  had  no  personal  in 
terest. 

"I  don't  know — I  haven't  counted — not  that  way. 
I  have  lain  awake  too  many  nights  and  suffered  too 
much  to  count  by  years.  I  count  by " 

She  raised  her  hand  in  protest:  "Don't  Harry — 
please  don't.  All  the  suffering  has  not  been  yours!" 
The  impersonal  tone  was  gone — there  was  a  note  of 
agony  in  her  voice. 

474 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

His  manner  softened:  "Don't  think  I  blame  you, 
Kate.  I  love  you  too  much  to  blame  you — you  did 
right.  The  suffering  has  only  done  me  good — I  am  a 
different  man  from  the  one  you  once  knew.  I  see  life 
with  a  wider  vision.  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  hungry; 
I  know,  too,  what  it  is  to  earn  the  bread  that  has  kept 
me  alive.  I  came  home  to  look  after  Uncle  George. 
When  I  go  back  I  want  to  take  him  with  me.  I  won't 
count  the  years  nor  all  the  suffering  I  have  gone 
through  if  I  can  pay  him  back  what  I  owe  him.  He 
stood  by  me  when  everybody  else  deserted  me." 

She  winced  a  little  at  the  thrust,  as  if  he  had  touched 
some  sore  spot,  sending  a  shiver  of  pain  through  her 
frame,  but  she  did  not  defend  herself. 

"You  mustn't  take  him  away,  Harry — leave  Uncle 
George  to  me,"  not  as  if  she  demanded  it — more  as  if 
she  was  stating  a  fact. 

"  Why  not  ?  He  will  be  another  man  out  in  Brazil 
— and  he  can  live  there  like  a  gentleman  on  what  he 
will  have  left — so  Pawson  thinks." 

"Because  I  love  him  dearly — and  when  he  is 
gone  I  have  nobody  left,"  she  answered  in  a  hope 
less  tone. 

Harry  hesitated,  then  he  asked:  "And  so  what 
Uncle  George  told  me  about  Mr.  Willits  is  true?" 

Kate  looked  at  him  furtively — as  if  afraid  to  read 
his  thoughts  and  for  reply  bowed  her  head  in  assent. 

"  Didn't  he  love  you  enough  ?  "  There  was  a  certain 
reproach  in  his  tone,  as  if  no  one  could  love  this  woman 
enough  to  satisfy  her. 

475 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

"Yes." 

"What  was  the  matter  then?  Was  it— "  He 
stopped — his  eagerness  had  led  him  onto  dangerous, 
if  not  discourteous,  grounds.  "No,  you  needn't 
answer — forgive  me  for  asking — I  had  no  right.  I 
am  not  myself,  Kate — I  didn't  mean  to 

"Yes,  I'll  tell  you.  I  told  Uncle  George.  I  didn't 
like  him  well  enough — that's  all."  All  this  time  she 
was  looking  him  calmly  in  the  face.  If  she  had  done 
anything  to  be  ashamed  of  she  did  not  intend  to  conceal 
it  from  her  former  lover. 

"And  will  Uncle  George  take  his  place  now  that 
he's  gone?  Do  you  ever  know  your  own  heart, 
Kate?"  There  was  no  bitterness  in  his  question. 
Her  frankness  had  disarmed  him  of  that.  It  was  more 
in  the  nature  of  an  inquiry,  as  if  he  was  probing  for 
something  on  which  he  could  build  a  hope. 

For  a  brief  instant  she  made  no  answer;  then  she 
said  slowly  and  with  a  certain  positiveness: 

"  If  I  had  I  would  have  saved  myself  and  you  a  great 
deal  of  misery." 

"And  Langdon  Willits?" 

"  No,  he  cannot  complain — he  does  not — I  promised 
him  nothing.  But  I  have  been  so  beaten  about,  and  I 
have  tried  so  hard  to  do  right;  and  it  has  all  crumbled 
to  pieces.  As  for  you  and  me,  Harry,  let  us  both  for 
get  that  we  have  ever  had  any  differences.  I  can't 
bear  to  think  that  whenever  you  come  home  we  must 
avoid  each  other.  We  were  friends  once — let  us  be 
friends  again.  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  come. 

476 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

I'm  glad  you  didn't  wait.  Don't  be  bitter  in  your 
heart  toward  me." 

Harry  left  his  chair  and  settled  down  on  the  sofa 
beside  her,  and  in  pleading,  tender  tones  said: 

"Kate — When  was  I  ever  bitter  toward  you  in  my 
heart?  Look  at  me!  Do  you  realize  how  I  love 
you  ? — Do  you  know  it  sets  me  half  crazy  to  hear  you 
talk  like  that?  I  haven't  come  here  to-day  to  re 
proach  you — I  have  come  to  do  what  I  can  to  help 
you,  if  you  want  my  help.  I  told  you  the  last  time 
we  talked  in  the  park  that  I  wouldn't  stay  in  Kennedy 
Square  a  day  longer  even  if  you  begged  me  to. 
That  is  over  now;  I'll  do  now  anything  you  wish  me 
to  do;  I'll  go  or  I'll  stay.  I  love  you  too  much  to  do 
anything  else." 

"No,  you  don't  love  me! — you  can't  love  me  I  I 
wouldn't  let  you  love  me  after  all  the  misery  I  have 
caused  you!  I  didn't  know  how  much  until  I  began 
to  suffer  myself  and  saw  Mr.  Willits  suffer.  I  am 
not  worthy  of  any  man's  love.  I  will  never  trust 
myself  again — I  can  only  try  to  be  to  the  men  about 
me  as  Uncle  George  is  to  everyone.  Oh,  Harry! — 
Harry! — Why  was  I  born  this  way — headstrong — 
wilful — never  satisfied?  Why  am  I  different  from 
the  other  women  ?  " 

He  tried  to  take  her  hand,  but  she  drew  it  away. 

"No! — not  that! — not  that!  Let  us  be  just  as  we 
were  when —  Just  as  we  used  to  be.  Sit  over  there 
where  I  can  see  you  better  and  watch  your  face  as  you 
talk.  Tell  me  all  you  have  done — what  you  have  seen 

477 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

and  what  sort  of  places  you  have  been  in.     We  heard 
from  you  through " 

He  squared  his  shoulders  and  faced  her,  his  voice 
ringing  clear,  his  eyes  flashing:  something  of  the  old 
Dutch  admiral  was  in  his  face. 

"Kate — I  will  have  none  of  it!  Don't  talk  such 
nonsense  to  me;  1  won't  listen.  If  you  don't  know 
your  own  heart  I  know  mine;  you've  got  to  love  me! 
— you  must  love  me!  Look  at  me.  In  all  the  years  I 
have  been  away  from  you  I  have  lived  the  life  you 
would  have  me  live — every  request  you  ever  made  of 
me  I  have  carried  out.  I  did  this  knowing  you  would 
never  be  my  wife  and  you  would  be  Willits's!  I  did 
it  because  you  were  my  Madonna  and  my  religion  and 
I  loved  the  soul  of  you  and  lived  for  you  as  men  live 
to  please  the  God  they  have  never  seen.  There  were 
days  and  nights  when  I  never  expected  to  see  you 
or  any  one  else  whom  I  loved  again — but  you  never 
failed — your  light  never  went  out  in  my  heart.  Don't 
you  see  now  why  you've  got  to  love  me  ?  What  was 
it  you  loved  in  me  once  that  I  haven't  got  now  ?  How 
am  I  different?  What  do  I  lack?  Look  into  my 
eyes — close — deep  down — read  my  heart!  Never,  as 
God  is  my  judge,  have  I  done  a  thing  since  I  last  kissed 
your  forehead,  that  you  would  have  been  ashamed  of. 
Do  you  think,  now  that  you  are  free,  that  I  am  going 
back  without  you  ?  I  am  not  that  kind  of  a  man." 

She  half  started  from  her  seat:  "Harry!"  she 
cried  in  a  helpless  tone — "  you  do  not  know  what  you 

are  saying — you  must  not " 

478 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

He  leaned  over  and  took  both  her  hands  firmly  in 
his  own. 

"Look  at  me  I  Tell  me  the  truth — as  you  would 
to  your  God!  Do  you  love  me?" 

She  made  an  effort  to  withdraw  her  hands,  then  she 
sank  back. 

"I — I — don't  know — "  she  murmured. 

"  You  do — search  again — way  down  in  your  heart. 
Go  over  every  day  we  have  lived — when  we  were 
children  and  played  together — all  that  horror  at  Moor 
lands  when  I  shot  Willits — the  night  of  Mrs.  Cheston's 
ball  when  I  was  drunk — all  the  hours  I  have  held  you 
in  my  arms,  my  lips  to  yours —  All  of  it — every  hour 
of  it — balance  one  against  the  other.  Think  of  your 
loneliness — not  mine — yours — and  then  tell  me  you 
do  not  know!  You  do  know!  Oh,  my  God,  Kate! — 
you  must  love  me!  What  else  would  you  want  a  man 
to  do  for  you  that  I  have  not  done  ? " 

He  stretched  out  his  arms,  but  she  sprang  to  her 
feet  and  put  out  her  palms  as  a  barrier. 

"No.  Let  me  tell  you  something.  We  must  have 
no  more  misunderstandings — you  must  be  sure — I 
must  be  sure.  I  have  no  right  to  take  your  heart  in 
my  hands  again.  It  is  I  who  have  broken  my  faith 
with  you,  not  you  with  me.  I  was  truly  your  wife 
when  I  promised  you  here  on  the  sofa  that  last  time. 
I  knew  then  that  you  would,  perhaps,  lose  your  head 
again,  and  yet  I  loved  you  so  much  that  I  could  not 
give  you  up.  Then  came  the  night  of  your  father's 
ball  and  all  the  misery,  and  I  was  a  coward  and  shut 

479 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

myself  up  instead  of  keeping  my  arms  around  you 
and  holding  you  up  to  the  best  that  was  in  you,  just 
as  Uncle  George  begged  me  to  do.  And  when  your 
father  turned  against  you  and  drove  you  from  your 
home,  all  because  you  had  tried  to  defend  me  from  in 
sult,  I  saw  only  the  disgrace  and  did  not  see  the  man 
behind  it;  and  then  you  went  away  and  I  stretched 
out  my  arms  for  you  to  come  back  to  me  and  only  your 
words  echoed  in  my  ears  that  you  would  never  come 
back  to  me  until  you  were  satisfied  with  yourself. 
Then  I  gave  up  and  argued  it  out  and  said  it  was 
all  over " 

He  had  left  his  seat  and  at  every  sentence  had  tried 
to  take  her  in  his  arms,  but  she  kept  her  palms  tow 
ard  him. 

"No,  don't  touch  me!  You  shall  hear  me  out;  I 
must  empty  all  my  heart!  I  was  lonely  and  heart- 
sore  and  driven  half  wild  with  doubts  and  what  people 
said,  my  father  worse  than  all  of  them.  And  Mr. 
Willits  was  kind  and  always  at  my  beck  and  call — and 
so  thoughtful  and  attentive — and  I  tried  and  tried— 
but  I  couldn't.  I  always  had  you  before  me — and 
you  haunted  me  day  and  night,  and  sometimes  when 
he  would  come  in  that  door  I  used  to  start,  hoping 
it  might  be  you." 

"It  is  me,  my  darling!"  he  cried,  springing  toward 
her.  "I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more — I  must — I 
will " 

"But  you  shall!  There  is  something  more.  It 
went  oq  and  on  and  I  got  so  that  I  did  not  care, 

480 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

and  one  day  I  thought  I  would  give  him  my  prom 
ise  and  the  next  day  all  my  soul  rebelled  against 
it  and  it  was  that  way  until  one  night  Mr.  Horn  read 
aloud  a  storv — and  it  'all  came  over  me  and  I  saw 

• 

everything  plain  as  if  it  had  been  on  a  stage,  and  myself 
and  you  and  Mr.  Willits — and  what  it  meant — and 
what  would  come  of  it — and  he  walked  home  with  me 
and  I  told  him  frankly,  and  I  have  never  seen  him 
since.  And  now  here  is  the  last  and  you  must  hear 
it  out.  There  is  not  a  word  I  have  said  to  him  which 
I  would  recall — not  a  thing  I  am  ashamed  of.  Your 
lips  were  the  last  that  touched  my  own.  There,  my 
darling,  it  is  all  told.  I  love  you  with  my  whole  heart 
and  soul  and  mind  and  body — I  have  never  loved 
anybody  else — I  have  tried  and  tried  and  couldn't. 
I  am  so  tired  of  thinking  for  myself, — so  tired, — so 
tired.  Take  me  and  do  with  me  as  you  will!" 

Again  the  plot  is  too  strong  for  the  dialogue.  He 
had  her  fast  in  his  arms  before  her  confession  was 
finished.  Then  the  two  sank  on  the  sofa  where  she 
lay  sobbing  her  heart  out,  he  crooning  over  her — pat 
ting  her  cheeks,  kissing  away  the  tears  from  her  eye 
lids;  smoothing  the  strands  of  her  hair  with  his  strong, 
firm  fingers.  It  was  his  Kate  that  lay  in  his  grasp — 
close — tightly  pressed — her  heart  beating  against  his, 
her  warm,  throbbing  body  next  his  own,  her  heart 
swept  of  every  doubt  and  care,  all  her  will  gone. 

As  she  grew  quiet  she  stretched  up  her  hand,  touch 
ing  his  cheek  as  if  to  reassure  herself  that  it  was 
really  her  lover.  Yes!  It  was  Harry — her  Harry — 

481 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Harry  who  was  dead  and  is  alive  again — to  whom 
she  had  stripped  her  soul  naked — and  who  still  trusted 
and  loved  her. 

A  little  later  she  loosened  herself  from  his  embrace 
and  taking  his  face  in  her  small,  white  hands  looked 
long  and  earnestly  into  his  eyes,  smoothing  back  the 
hair  from  his  brow  as  she  used  to  do;  kissing  him  on 
the  forehead,  on  each  eyelid,  and  then  on  the  mouth 
— one  of  their  old-time  caresses.  Still  remembering  the 
old  days,  she  threw  back  his  coat  and  let  her  hands 
wander  over  his  full-corded  throat  and  chest  and  arms. 
How  big  and  strong  he  had  become!  and  how  hand 
some  he  had  grown — the  boy  merged  into  the  man. 
And  that  other  something!  (and  another  and  stronger 
thrill  shot  through  her) — that  other  something  which 
seemed  to  flow  out  of  him; — that  dominating  force 
that  betokened  leadership,  compelling  her  to  follow 
— not  the  imperiousness  of  his  father,  brooking  no 
opposition  no  matter  at  what  cost,  but  the  leadership 
of  experience,  courage,  and  self-reliance. 

With  this  the  sense  of  possession  swept  over  her.  He 
was  all  her  own  and  for  ever!  A  man  to  lean  upon; 
a  man  to  be  proud  of;  one  who  would  listen  and  under 
stand:  to  whom  she  could  surrender  her  last  strong 
hold — her  will.  And  the  comfort  of  it  all;  the  rest, 
the  quiet,  the  assurance  of  everlasting  peace:  she  who 
had  been  so  torn  and  buffeted  and  heart-sore. 

For  many  minutes  she  lay  still  from  sheer  happiness, 
thrilled  by  the  warmth  and  pressure  of  his  strong  arms. 
At  last,  when  another  thought  could  squeeze  itself 

482 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

into  her  mind,  she  said:  "Won't  Uncle  George  be 
glad,  Harry?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  releasing  her  just  far  enough 
to  look  into  her  eyes.  "  It  will  make  him  well.  You 
made  him  very  happy  this  morning.  His  troubles 
are  over,  I  hear — he's  going  to  get  a  lot  of  his  money 
back." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad.  And  will  we  take  him  with  us  ?  " 
she  asked  wonderingly,  smoothing  back  his  hair  as 
she  spoke. 

"Take  him  where,  darling?"   he  laughed. 

"  To  where  we  are  going —  No,  you  needn't  laugh 
— I  mean  it.  I  don't  care  where  we  go,"  and  she 
looked  at  him  intently.  "I'll  go  with  you  anywhere 
in  the  world  you  say,  and  I'll  start  to-morrow." 

He  caught  her  again  in  his  arms,  kissed  her  for 
the  hundredth  time,  and  then  suddenly  relaxing  his 
hold  asked  in  assumed  alarm:  "And  what  about 
your  father?  What  do  you  think  he  will  say?  He 
always  thought  me  a  madcap  scapegrace — didn't  he?" 
The  memory  brought  up  no  regret.  He  didn't  care 
a  rap  what  the  Honorable  Prim  thought  of  him. 

"Yes — he  thinks  so  now,"  she  echoed,  wondering 
how  anybody  could  have  formed  any  such  ideas  of  her 
Harry. 

"  Well,  he  will  get  over  it  when  I  talk  with  him  about 
his  coffee  people.  Some  of  his  agents  out  there  want 
looking  after." 

"Oh! — how  lovely,  my  precious;  talking  coffee 
will  be  much  pleasanter  than  talking  me! — and  yet 

483 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

we   have   got    to   do    it    somehow   when    he   comes 
home." 

And  down  went  her  head  again,  she  nestling  the 
closer  as  if  terrified  at  the  thought  of  the  impending 
meeting  ;  then  another  kiss  followed — dozens  of  them 
— neither  of  them  keeping  count,  and  then — and 
then ...  .  .  . 

And  then —  Ben  tapped  gently  and  announced 
that  dinner  was  served,  and  Harry  stared  at  the 
moon-faced  dial  and  saw  that  it  was  long  after  two 
o'clock,  and  wondered  what  in  the  world  had  become 
of  the  four  hours  that  had  passed  since  he  had  rushed 
down  from  his  uncle's  and  into  Kate's  arms. 

And  so  we  will  leave  them — playing  housekeeping 
—Harry  pulling  out  her  chair,  she  spreading  her  dainty 
skirts  and  saying  "Thank  you,  Mr.  Rutter—  '  and 
Ben  with  his  face  in  so  broad  a  grin  that  it  got  set  that 
way — Aunt  Dinah,  the  cook,  having  to  ask  him  three 
times  "Was  he  gwineter  hab  a  fit"  before  he  could 
answer  by  reason  of  the  chuckle  which  was  suffocat 
ing  him. 

And  now  as  we  must  close  the  door  for  a  brief  space 
on  the  happy  couple — never  so  happy  in  all  their  lives 
— it  will  be  just  as  well  for  us  to  find  out  what  the  mis 
chief  is  going  on  at  the  club — for  there  is  something 
going  on — and  that  of  unusual  importance. 

Everybody  is  out  on  the  front  steps.  Old  Bowdoin 
is  craning  his  short  neck,  and  Judge  Pancoast  is  say- 

484 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

ing  that  it  is  impossible  and  then  instantly  changing 
his  mind,  saying:  "By  jove  it  is!" — and  Richard 
Horn  and  Warfield  and  Murdoch  are  leaning  over  the 
balcony  rail  still  unconvinced  and  old  Harding  is 
pounding  his  fat  thigh  with  his  pudgy  hand  in  ill-con 
cealed  delight. 

Yes — there  is  no  doubt  of  it — hasn't  been  any  doubt 
of  it  since  the  judge  shouted  out  the  glad  tidings  which 
emptied  every  chair  in  the  club:  Across  the  park, 
beyond  the  rickety,  vine-covered  fence  and  close  be 
side  the  Temple  Mansion,  stands  a  four-in-hand, 
the  afternoon  sun  flashing  from  the  silver  mountings 
of  the  harness  and  glinting  on  the  polished  body  and 
wheels  of  the  coach.  Then  a  crack  of  the  whip,  a 
wind  of  the  horn,  and  they  are  off — the  leaders  stretch 
ing  the  traces,  two  men  on  the  box,  two  grooms  in 
the  rear.  Hurrah !  Well,  by  thunder,  who  would  have 
believed  it — that's  Temple  inside  on  the  back  seat! 
"There  he  is  waving  his  hand  and  Todd  is  with  him. 
And  yes!  Why  of  course  it's  Rutter!  See  him  clear 
that  curb!  Not  a  man  in  this  county  can  drive  like 
that  but  Talbut." 

Round  they  come — the  colonel  straight  as  a  whip — 
dusty-brown  overcoat,  flowers  in  his  buttonhole — 
bell-crowned  hat,  brown  driving  gloves — perfectly 
appointed,  even  if  he  is  a  trifle  pale  and  half  blind. 
More  horn — a  long  joyous  note  now,  as  if  they  were 
heralding  the  peace  of  the  world,  the  colonel  bowing 
like  a  grand  duke  as  he  passes  the  assembled  crowd — 
a  gathering  of  the  reins  together,  a  sudden  pull-up  at 

485 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Seymours',  everybody  on  the  front  porch — Kate 
peeping  over  Harry's  shoulder — and  last  and  best  of 
all,  St.  George's  cheery  voice  ringing  out: 

"Where  are  you  two  sweethearts!"  Not  a  weak 
note  anywhere;  regular  fog-horn  of  a  voice  blown  to 
help  shipwrecked  mariners. 

"All  aboard  for  Moorlands,  you  turtle-doves — 
never  mind  your  clothes,  Kate — nor  you  either,  Harry. 
Your  father  will  send  for  them  later.  Up  with  you." 

"All  true,  Harry,"  called  back  the  colonel  from  the 
top  of  the  coach  (nobody  alighted  but  the  grooms — 
there  wasn't  time — )  "Your  mother  wouldn't  wait 
another  hour  and  sent  me  for  you,  and  Teackle  said 
St.  George  could  go,  and  we  bundled  him  up  and 
brought  him  along  and  you  are  all  going  to  stay  a 
month.  No,  don't  wait  a  minute,  Kate;  I  want  to 
get  home  before  dark.  One  of  my  men  will  be  in 
with  the  carryall  and  bring  out  your  mammy  and 
your  clothes  and  whatever  you  want.  Your  father  is 
away  I  hear,  and  so  nobody  will  miss  you.  Get  your 
heavy  driving  coat,  my  dear;  I  brought  one  of  mine  in 
for  Harry — it  will  be  cold  before  we  get  home.  Mat 
thew,  your  eyes  are  better  than  mine,  get  down  and 
see  what  the  devil  is  the  matter  with  that  horse.  No, 
it's  all  right — the  check-rein  bothered  him." 

And  so  ended  the  day  that  had  been  so  happily 
begun,  and  the  night  was  no  less  joyful  with  the 
mother's  arms  about  her  beloved  boy  and  Kate  on  a 
stool  beside  her  and  Talbot  and  St.  George  deep  in 
certain  vintages — or  perhaps  certain  vintages  deep 

486 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

in  Talbot  and  St.  George — especially  that  particular 
and  peculiar  old  Madeira  of  1800,  which  his  friend 
Mr.  Jefferson  had  sent  him  from  Monticello,  and  which 
was  never  served  except  to  some  such  distinguished 
guest  as  his  highly  esteemed  and  well-beloved  friend 
of  many  years,  St.  George  Wilmot  Temple  of  Kennedy 
Square. 


487 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

It  would  be  delightful  to  describe  the  happy  days  at 
Moorlands  during  St.  George's  convalescence,  when 
the  love-life  of  Harry  and  Kate  was  one  long,  uninter 
rupted,  joyous  dream.  When  mother,  father,  and  son 
were  again  united — what  a  meeting  was  that,  once 
she  got  her  arms  around  her  son's  neck  and  held  him 
close  and  wept  her  heart  out  in  thankfulness! — and 
the  life  of  the  old-time  past  was  revived — a  life  softened 
and  made  restful  and  kept  glad  by  the  lessons  all  had 
learned.  And  it  would  be  more  delightful  still  to  carry 
the  record  of  these  charming  hours  far  into  the  summer 
had  not  St.  George,  eager  to  be  under  his  own  roof 
in  Kennedy  Square,  declared  he  could  stay  no  longer. 

Not  that  his  welcome  had  grown  less  warm.  He 
and  his  host  had  long  since  unravelled  all  their  diffi 
culties,  the  last  knot  having  been  cut  the  afternoon 
the  colonel,  urged  on  by  Harry's  mother — his  dis 
appointment  over  his  son's  coldness  set  at  rest  by 
her  pleadings — had  driven  into  town  for  Harry  in  his 
coach,  as  has  been  said,  and  swept  the  whole  party, 
including  St.  George,  out  to  Moorlands. 

Various  unrelated  causes  had  brought  about  this 
much-to-be-desired  result,  the  most  important  being 
the  news  of  the  bank's  revival,  which  Harry,  in  his 

488 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

mad  haste  to  overtake  Kate,  had  forgotten  to  tell  his 
uncle,  and  which  St.  George  learned  half  an  hour 
later  from  Pawson,  together  with  a  full  account  of  what 
the  colonel  had  done  to  bring  about  the  happy  result 
— a  bit  of  information  which  so  affected  Temple  that, 
when  the  coach  with  the  colonel  on  the  box  had 
whirled  up,  he,  weak  as  he  was,  had  struggled  to  the 
front  door,  both  hands  held  out,  in  welcome. 

"  Talbot — old  fellow,"  he  had  said  with  a  tear  in  his 
voice,  "I  have  misunderstood  you  and  I  beg  your 
pardon.  You've  behaved  like  a  man,  and  I  thank 
you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart!" 

At  which  the  stern  old  aristocrat  had  replied,  as  he 
took  St.  George's  two  hands  in  his:  "Let  us  forget 
all  about  it,  St.  George,  I  made  a  damned  fool  of  my 
self.  We  all  get  too  cocky  sometimes." 

Then  there  had  followed — the  colonel  listening  with 
bated  breath — St.  George's  account  of  Kate's  con 
fession  and  Harry's  sudden  exit,  Rutter's  face  bright 
ening  as  it  had  not  done  for  years  when  he  learned 
that  Harry  had  not  yet  returned  from  the  Seymours', 
the  day's  joy  being  capped  by  the  arrival  of  Dr. 
Teackle,  who  had  given  his  permission  with  an  "All 
right — the  afternoon  is  fine  and  the  air  will  do  Mr 
Temple  a  world  of  good,"  and  so  St.  George  was 
bundled  up  and  the  reader  knows  the  rest. 

Later  on — at  Moorlands  of  course — the  colonel, 
whose  eyes  were  getting  better  by  the  day  and  Gor- 
such  whose  face  was  now  one  round  continuous  smile, 
got  to  work,  and  had  a  heart-to-heart — or  rather  a 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

pocket-to-pocket  talk — which  was  quite  different  in 
those  days  from  what  it  would  be  now — after  which 
both  Kate  and  Harry  threw  to  the  winds  all  thoughts 
of  Rio  and  the  country  contiguous  thereto,  and  deter 
mined  instead  to  settle  down  at  Moorlands.  And 
then  a  great  big  iron  door  sunk  in  a  brick  vault  was 
swung  wide  and  certain  leather-bound  books  were 
brought  out — and  particularly  a  sum  of  money  which 
Harry  duly  banded  over  to  Pawson  the  next  time 
he  drove  to  town — (twice  a  week  now) — and  which, 
when  recounted,  balanced  to  a  cent  the  total  of  th^  bills 
which  Pawson  had  paid  three  years  before,  with  interest 
added,  a  list  of  which  the  attorney  still  kept  in  his 
private  drawer  with  certain  other  valuable  papers  tied 
with  red  tape,  marked  "St.  G.  W.  T."  And  still 
later  on — within  a  week — there  had  come  the  news  of 
the  final  settlement  of  the  long-disputed  lawsuit  with 
St.  George  as  principal  residuary  legatee — and  so  our 
long-suffering  hero  was  once  more  placed  upon  his 
financial  legs :  the  only  way  he  could  have  been  placed 
upon  them  or  would  have  been  placed  upon  them — a 
fact  very  well  known  to  every  one  who  had  tried  to 
help  him,  his  philosophy  being  that  one  dollar  bor 
rowed  is  two  dollars  owed — the  difference  being  a 
man's  self-respect. 

And  it  is  truly  marvellous  what  this  change  in  his 
fortunes  accomplished.  His  slack  body  rounded  out; 
his  sunken  cheeks  plumped  up  until  every  crease  and 
crack  were  gone,  his  color  regained  its  freshness,  his 
eyes  their  brilliancy;  his  legs  took  on  their  old-time 

490 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

spring  and  lightness — and  a  wonderful  pair  of  stand- 
bys,  or  stand-ups,  or  stand-arounds  they  were  as 
legs  go — that  is  legs  of  a  man  of  fifty-five. 

And  they  were  never  idle,  these  legs :  there  was  no 
sitting  cross-legged  in  a  chair  for  St.  George:  he  was 
not  constructed  along  those  lines.  Hardly  a  week  had 
passed  before  he  had  them  across  Spitfire's  mate; 
had  ridden  to  hounds;  danced  a  minuet  with  Harry 
and  Kate;  walked  half-way  to  Kennedy  Square  and 
back — they  thought  he  was  going  to  walk  all  the  way 
and  headed  him  off  just  in  time;  and  best  of  all — (and 
this  is  worthy  of  special  mention) — had  slipped  them 
into  the  lower  section  of  a  suit  of  clothes — and  these 
his  own,  although  he  had  not  yet  paid  for  them — the 
colonel  having  liquidated  their  cost.  These  trousers, 
it  is  just  as  well  to  state,  had  arrived  months  before 
from  Poole,  along  with  a  suit  of  Rutter's  and  the  colonel 
had  forwarded  a  draft  for  the  whole  amount  without 
examining  the  contents,  until  Alec  had  called  his  at 
tention  to  the  absurd  width  of  the  legs — and  the 
ridiculous  spread  of  the  seat.  My  Lord  of  Moor 
lands,  after  the  scene  in  the  Temple  Mansion,  dared 
not  send  them  in  to  St.  George,  and  they  had  accord 
ingly  lain  ever  since  on  top  of  his  wardrobe  with 
Alec  as  chief  of  the  Moth  Department.  St.  George,  on 
his  arrival,  found  them  folded  carefully  and  placed  on  a 
chair — Todd  chief  valet.  Whereupon  there  had  been 
a  good-natured  row  when  our  man  of  fashion  appeared 
at  breakfast  rigged  out  in  all  his  finery,  everybody  clap 
ping  their  hands  and  saying  how  handsome  he  looked 

491 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

— St.  George  in  reply  denouncing  Talbot  as  a  brigand 
of  a  Brummel  who  had  stolen  his  clothes,  tried  to 
wear  them,  and  then  when  out  of  fashion  thrown 
them  back  on  his  hands. 

All  these,  and  a  thousand  other  delightful  things, 
it  would,  I  say,  be  eminently  worth  while  to  dilate 
upon — (including  a  series  of  whoops  and  hand-springs 
which  Todd  threw  against  the  rear  wall  of  the  big 
kitchen  five  seconds  after  Alec  had  told  him  of  the 
discomfiture  of  "dat  red-haided  gemman,"  and  of 
Marse  Harry 's  good  fortune) — were  it  not  that  cer 
tain  mysterious  happenings  are  taking  place  inside  and 
out  of  the  Temple  house  in  Kennedy  Square — hap 
penings  exciting  universal  comment,  and  of  such 
transcendent  importance  that  the  Scribe  is  compelled, 
much  against  his  will — for  the  present  installment  is 
entirely  too  short — to  confine  their  telling  to  a  special 
chapter. 


492 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

For  some  time  back,  then  be  it  said,  various  strollers 
unfamiliar  with  the  neighbors  or  the  neighborhood  of 
Kennedy  Square,  poor  benighted  folk  who  knew  noth 
ing  of  the  events  set  down  in  the  preceding  chapters, 
had  nodded  knowingly  to  each  other  or  shaken  their 
pates  deprecatingly  over  the  passing  of  "  another  old 
landmark." 

Some  of  these  had  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that  the 
cause  could  be  found  in  the  fact  that  Lawyer  Temple 
had  run  through  what  little  money  his  father  and 
grandmother  had  left  him;  additional  wise-acres  were 
of  the  opinion  that  some  out-of-town  folks  had  bought 
the  place  and  were  trying  to  prop  it  up  so  it  wouldn't 
tumble  into  the  street,  while  one,  more  facetious  than 
the  others,  had  claimed  that  it  was  no  wonder  it  was 
falling  down,  since  the  only  new  thing  Temple  had 
put  upon  it  was  a  heavy  mortgage. 

The  immediate  neighbors,  however, — the  friends 
of  the  house — had  smiled  and  passed  on.  They  had 
no  such  forebodings.  On  the  contrary  nothing  so 
diverting — nothing  so  enchanting — had  happened 
around  Kennedy  Square  in  years.  In  fact,  when  one 
of  these  humorists  began  speaking  about  it,  every  lis 
tener  heard  the  story  in  a  broad  grin.  Some  of  the 

493 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

more  hilarious  even  nudged  each  other  in  the  waist 
coats  and  ordered  another  round  of  toddies — for  two 
or  three,  or  even  five,  if  there  were  that  number  of  en 
thusiasts  about  the  club  tables.  When  they  were  asked 
what  it  was  all  about  they  invariably  shook  their 
heads,  winked,  and  kept  still — that  is,  if  the  question 
were  put  by  some  one  outside  the  magic  circle  of  Ken 
nedy  Square. 

All  the  general  public  knew  was  that  men  with 
bricks  in  hods  had  been  seen  staggering  up  the  old 
staircase  with  its  spindle  banisters  and  mahogany  rail; 
that  additional  operatives  had  been  discovered  cling 
ing  to  the  slanting  roof  long  enough  to  pass  up  to  fur 
ther  experts  grouped  about  the  chimneys  small  rolls 
of  tin  and  big  bundles  of  shingles;  that  plasterers  in 
white  caps  and  aprons,  with  mortar-boards  in  one 
hand  and  trowels  in  the  other,  had  been  seen  chink 
ing  up  cracks;  while  any  number  of  painters,  car 
penters,  and  locksmiths  were  working  away  for  dear 
life  all  over  the  place  from  Aunt  Jemima's  kitchen  to 
Todd's  bunk  under  the  roof. 

In  addition  to  all  this  curious  wagons  had  been  seen 
to  back  up  to  the  curb,  from  which  had  been  taken 
various  odd-looking  bundles;  these  were  laid  on  the 
dining-room  floor,  a  collection  of  paint  pots,  brushes, 
and  wads  of  putty  being  pushed  aside  to  give  them 
room — and  with  some  haste  too,  for  every  one  seemed 
to  be  working  overtime. 

As  to  what  went  on  inside  the  mansion  itself  not  the 
most  inquisitive  could  fathom:  no  one  being  permitted 

494 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

to  peer  even  into  Pawson's  office,  where  so  large  a  col 
lection  of  household  goods  and  gods  were  sprawled, 
heaped,  and  hung,  that  it  looked  as  if  there  had  been 
a  fire  in  the  neighborhood,  and  this  room  the  only 
shelter  for  miles  around.  Even  Pawson's  law  books 
were  completely  hidden  by  the  overflow  and  so  were 
the  tables,  chairs,  and  shelves,  together  with  the  two 
wide  window-sills. 

Nor  did  it  seem  to  matter  very  much  to  the  young 
attorney  as  to  how  or  at  what  hours  of  the  day  or 
night  these  several  articles  arrived.  Often  quite  late 
in  the  evening — and  this  happened  more  than  once 
— an  old  fellow,  pinched  and  wheezy,  would  sneak  in, 
uncover  a  mysterious  object  wrapped  in  a  square  of 
stringy  calico,  fumble  in  his  pocket  for  a  scrap  of  paper, 
put  his  name  at  the  bottom  of  it,  and  sneak  out  again 
five,  ten,  or  twenty  dollars  better  off.  Once,  as  late 
as  eleven  o'clock,  a  fattish  gentleman  with  a  hooked 
nose  and  a  positive  dialect,  assisted  another  stout 
member  of  his  race  to  slide  a  very  large  object  from 
out  the  tail  of  a  cart.  Whereupon  there  had  been  an 
interchange  of  wisps  of  paper  between  Pawson  and  the 
fatter  of  the  two  men,  the  late  visitors  bowing  and  smil 
ing  until  they  reached  a  street  lantern  where  they  di 
vided  a  roll  of  bank-notes  between  them. 

And  the  delight  that  Pawson  and  Gadgem  took  in  it 
all ! — assorting,  verifying,  checking  off — slapping  each 
other's  backs  in  glee  when  some  doubtful  find  was 
made  certain,  and  growing  even  more  excited  on  the 
days  when  Harry  and  Kate  would  drive  or  ride  in  from 

495 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Moorlands — almost  every  day  of  late — tie  the  horse 
and  carry-all,  or  both  saddle-horses,  to  St.  George's 
tree-boxes,  and  at  once  buckle  on  their  armor. 

This,  rendered  into  common  prose,  meant  that 
Harry,  after  a  prolonged  consultation  with  Pawson 
and  Gadgem,  would  shed  his  outer  coat,  the  spring 
being  now  far  advanced,  blossoms  out  and  the  weather 
warm — and  that  Kate  would  tuck  her  petticoats  clear 
of  her  dear  little  feet  and  go  pattering  round,  her 
sleeves  rolled  up  as  far  as  they  would  go,  her  beautiful 
arms  bare  almost  to  her  shoulders — her  hair  smothered 
in  a  brown  barege  veil  to  keep  out  the  dust — the 
most  bewitching  parlor-maid  you  or  anybody  else 
ever  laid  eyes  on.  Then  would  follow  such  a  carry 
ing  up  of  full  baskets  and  carrying  down  of  empty 
ones;  such  a  spreading  of  carpets  and  rugs;  such  an 
arranging  of  china  and  glass;  such  a  placing  of  and 
irons,  fenders,  shovels,  tongs,  and  bellows;  hanging 
of  pictures,  curtains,  and  mirrors — old  and  new;  mov 
ing  in  of  sofas,  chairs,  and  rockers;  making  up  of 
beds  with  fluted  frills  on  the  pillows — a  silk  patch 
work  quilt  on  St.  George's  bed  and  cotton  counter 
panes  for  Jemima  and  Todd! 

And  the  secrecy  maintained  by  everybody!  Pawson 
might  have  been  stone  deaf  and  entirely  blind  for  all 
the  information  you  could  twist  out  of  him — and  a 
lot  of  people  tried.  And  as  to  Gadgem — the  dumbest 
oyster  in  Cherrystone  Creek  was  a  veritable  magpie 
when  it  came  to  his  giving  the  precise  reason  why  the 
Temple  Mansion  was  being  restored  from  top  to  bot- 

496 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

torn  and  why  all  its  old  furniture,  fittings,  and  trap 
pings — (brand-new  ones  when  they  couldn't  be  found 
in  the  pawn  shops  or  elsewhere) — were  being  gathered 
together  within  its  four  walls.  When  anybody  asked 
Kate — and  plenty  of  people  did — she  would  throw  her 
head  back  and  laugh  so  loud  and  so  merrily  and  so 
musically,  that  you  would  have  thought  all  the  birds 
in  Kennedy  Square  park  were  still  welcoming  the 
spring.  When  you  asked  Harry  he  would  smile  and 
wink  and  perhaps  keep  on  whispering  to  Pawson  or 
Gadgem  whose  eyes  were  glued  to  a  list  which  had  its 
abiding  place  in  Pawson's  top  drawer. 

Outside  of  these  four  conspirators — yes,  six — for 
both  Todd  and  Jemima  were  in  it,  only  a  very  few  were 
aware  of  what  was  really  being  done.  The  colonel 
of  course  knew,  and  so  did  Harry's  mother — and  so  did 
old  Alec  who  had  to  clap  his  hand  over  his  mouth  to  keep 
from  snickering  out  loud  at  the  breakfast  table  when  he 
accidentally  overheard  what  was  going  on — an  unpar 
donable  offence — (not  the  listening,  but  the  laughing). 
In  fact  everybody  in  the  big  house  at  Moorlands  knew, 
for  Alec  spread  it  broadcast  in  the  kitchen  and  cabins 
— everybody  except  St.  George. 

Not  a  word  reached  St.  George — not  a  syllable.  No 
one  of  the  house  servants  would  have  spoiled  the  fun, 
and  certainly  no  one  of  the  great  folks.  It  was  only 
when  his  visit  to  Moorlands  was  over  and  he  had 
driven  into  town  and  had  walked  up  his  own  front 
steps,  that  the  true  situation  in  all  its  glory  and  brill 
iancy  dawned  upon  him. 

497 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

The  polished  knobs,  knocker,  and  the  perfect  level 
and  whiteness  of  the  marble  steps  first  caught  his 
eye;  then  the  door  swung  open  and  Jemima  in  white 
apron  and  bandanna  stood  bowing  to  the  floor,  Todd 
straight  as  a  ramrod  in  a  new  livery  and  a  grin  on 
his  face  that  cut  it  in  two,  with  Kate  and  Harry 
hidden  behind  them,  suffocating  from  suppressed 
laughter. 

"Why,  you  dear  Jemima!  Howdy —  .  .  .  Why, 
who  the  devil  sent  that  old  table  back,  Todd,  and  the 
hall  rack  and — What!"  Here  he  entered  the  dining- 
room.  Everything  was  as  he  remembered  it  in  the 
old  days.  "Harry!  Kate!— Why— "  then  he  broke 
down  and  dropped  into  a  chair,  his  eyes  still  roaming 
around  the  room  taking  in  every  object,  even  the  lov 
ing  cup,  which  Mr.  Kennedy  had  made  a  personal 
point  of  buying  back  from  the  French  secretary,  who 
was  gracious  enough  to  part  with  it  when  he  learned 
the  story  of  its  enforced  sale — each  and  every  one  of 
them — ready  to  spring  forward  from  its  place  to  wel 
come  him! 

"So  this/'  he  stammered  out — "is  what  you  have 
kept  me  up  at  Moorlands  for,  is  it  ?  You  never  say  a 
word  to  me — and — Oh,  you  children! — you  children! 
Todd,  did  you  ever  see  anything  like  it? — my  guns 
— and  the  loving  cup — and  the  clock,  and —  Come 
here  you  two  blessed  things  and  let  me  get  my  arms 
around  you!  Kiss  me,  Kate — and  Harry,  my  son — 
give  me  your  hand.  No,  don't  say  a  word — don't 

mind  me — I'm  all  knocked  out  and " 

498 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Down  went  his  face  in  his  hands  and  he  in  a  heap 
in  the  chair;  then  he  stiffened  and  gave  a  little  shiver 
to  his  elbows  in  the  effort  to  keep  himself  from  going 
completely  to  pieces,  and  scrambled  to  his  feet  again, 
one  arm  around  Kate's  neck,  his  free  hand  in  Harry's. 

"Take  me  everywhere  and  show  me  everything. 
Todd,  go  and  find  Mr.  Pawson  and  see  if  Mr.  Gadgem 
is  anywhere  around;  they've  had  something  to  do 
with  this — "  here  his  eyes  took  in  Todd —  "You 
damned  scoundrel,  who  the  devil  rigged  you  out  in 
that  new  suit?" 

"  Marse  Harry  done  sont  me  to  de  tailor.  See  dem 
buttons? — but  dey  ain't  nuthin'  to  what's  on  the  top 
shelf — you'll  bust  yo'self  wide  open  a-laughin',  Marse 
George,  when  ye  sees  what's  in  dar — you  gotter  come 
wid  me — please  Mistis  an'  Marse  Harry,  you  come 
too.  Dis  way " 

Todd  was  full  to  bursting.  Had  his  grin  been  half 
an  inch  wider  his  ears  would  have  dropped  off. 

"An'  fore  ye  look  at  dem  shelves  der's  annuder  thing 
I  gotter  tell  ye; — an'  dat  is  dat  the  dogs — all  fo'  ob 
'em  is  comin'  in  the  mawnin'.  Mister  Floyd's  coach 
man  done  tole  me  so,"  and  with  a  jerk  and  a  whoop, 
completely  ignoring  his  master's  exclamation  of  joy 
over  the  return  of  his  beloved  setters,  the  darky  threw 
back  the  door  of  the  little  cubby-hole  of  a  room 
where  the  Black  Warrior  and  his  brethren  had  once 
rested  in  peace,  and  pointed  to  a  row  of  erect  black 
bottles  backed  by  another  of  recumbent  ones. 

"Look  at  dat  wine,  will  ye,  Marse  George,"  he 
499 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

shouted,  "all  racked  up  on  dem  shelves?     Dat  come 
f'om  Mister   Talbot  Rutter  wid  dis  yere  cyard— - 
and  he  handed  it  out. 

St.  George  reached  over,  took  it  from  his  hand,  and 
read  it  aloud: 

"  With  the  compliments  of  an  old  friend,  who  sends 
you  herewith  a  few  bottles  of  the  Jefferson  and  some 
Sercial  and  old  Port — and  a  basket  or  two  of  Royal 
Brown  Sherry — nothing  like  your  own,  but  the  best 
he  could  scare  up." 

Soon  the  newly  polished  and  replated  knocker  began 
to  get  in  its  liveliest  work:  "Mrs.  Richard  Horn's 
compliments,  and  would  St.  George  be  pleased  to  ac 
cept  a  basket  of  Maryland  biscuit  and  a  sallylunn 
just  out  of  the  oven."  Mrs.  Bowdoin's  compliments 
with  three  brace  of  ducks — "  a  little  late  in  the  season, 
my  dear  St.  George,  but  they  are  just  up  from  Curry- 
tuck  where  Mr.  Bowdoin  has  had  extremely  good  luck 
—for  Mr.  Bowdoin."  "Mrs.  Cheston's  congratula 
tions,  and  would  Mr.  Temple  do  her  the  honor  of 
placing  on  his  sideboard  an  old  Accomack  County  ham 
which  her  cook  had  baked  that  morning  and  which 
should  have  all  the  charm  and  flavor  of  the  State  which 
had  given  him  birth — "  and  last  a  huge  basket  of 
spring  roses  from  Miss  Virginia  Clendenning,  accom 
panied  by  a  card  bearing  the  inscription — "You  don't 
deserve  them,  you  renegade,"  and  signed — "  Your  de 
serted  and  heart-broken  sweetheart."  All  of  which 
were  duly  spread  out  on  the  sideboard,  together  with 
one  lone  bottle  to  which  was  attached  an  envelope, 

500 


;Take  me  everywhere  and  show  me  everything  " 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

Before  the  day  was  over  half  the  club  had  called — 
Richard  acting  master  of  ceremonies — Kate  and  old 
Prim — (he  seemed  perfectly  contented  with  the  way 
everything  had  turned  out) — doing  the  honors  with 
St.  George.  Pawson  had  also  put  in  an  appearance 
and  been  publicly  thanked — a  mark  of  St.  George's 
confidence  and  esteem  which  doubled  his  practice 
before  the  year  was  out,  and  Gadgem 

No,  Gadgem  did  not  put  in  an  appearance.  Gad- 
gem  got  as  far  as  the  hall  and  looked  in,  and,  seeing 
all  the  great  people  thronging  about  St.  George,  would 
have  sneaked  out  again  to  await  some  more  favorable 
occasion  had  not  Harry's  sharp  eyes  discovered  the 
top  of  his  scraggly  head  over  the  shoulders  of  some 
others,  and  darted  towards  him,  and  when  he  couldn't 
be  made  to  budge,  had  beckoned  to  St.  George,  who 
came  on  a  run  and  shook  Gadgem's  hand  so  heartily 
and  thanked  him  in  so  loud  a  voice — (everybody  in 
the  hall  heard  him) — that  he  could  only  sputter — 
"  Didn't  do  a  thing,  sir — no,  sir — and  if  I — "  and  then, 
overwhelmed,  shot  out  of  the  door  and  down  the  steps 
and  into  Pawson's  office  where  he  stood  panting, 
saying  to  himself — "  I'll  be  tuckered  if  I  ain't  happier 
than  I — yes — by  Jingo,  I  am.  Jimminy-Cnmminy 
what  a  man  he  is!" 

And  so  the  day  passed  and  the  night  came  and  the 
neighbors  took  their  leave,  and  Harry  escorted  Kate 
back  to  Seymours'  and  the  tired  knocker  gave  out 
and  fell  asleep,  and  at  last  Todd  said  good-night  and 
stole  down  to  Jemima,  and  St.  George  found  himself 

501 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

once  more  in  his  easy  chair,  his  head  in  his  hand,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  dead  coals  of  a  past  fire. 

As  the  echo  of  Todd's  steps  faded  away  and  he  be 
gan  to  realize  that  he  was  alone,  there  crept  over  him 
for  the  first  time  in  years  the  comforting  sense  that  he 
was  once  more  under  his  own  roof — his  again  and  all 
that  it  covered — all  that  he  loved;  even  his  beloved 
dogs.  He  left  his  chair  and  with  a  quick  indrawing 
of  his  breath,  as  if  he  had  just  sniffed  the  air  from 
some  open  sea,  stretched  himself  to  his  full  height. 
There  he  stood  looking  about  him,  his  shapely  fingers 
patting  his  chest;  his  eyes  wandering  over  the  room, 
first  with  a  sweeping  glance,  and  then  resting  on  each 
separate  object  as  it  nodded  to  him  under  the  glow 
of  the  candles. 

He  had  come  into  his  possessions  once  more.  Not 
that  the  very  belongings  made  so  much  difference  as 
his  sense  of  pride  in  their  ownership.  They  had,  too, 
in  a  certain  way  regained  for  him  his  freedom — free 
dom  to  go  and  come  and  do  as  he  pleased  untrammelled 
by  makeshifts  and  humiliating  exposures  and  conceal 
ments.  Best  of  all,  they  had  given  him  back  his 
courage,  bracing  the  inner  man,  strengthening  his  be 
liefs  in  his  traditions  and  in  the  things  that  his  race 
and  blood  stood  for. 

Then  as  a  flash  of  lightning  reveals  from  out  black 
darkness  the  recurrent  waves  of  a  troubled  sea,  there 
rushed  over  him  the  roll  and  surge  of  the  events  which 
had  led  up  to  his  rehabilitation.  Suddenly  a  feeling  of 
intense  humiliation  and  profound  gratitude  swept 

502 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

through  him.  He  raised  his  arms,  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands,  and  stood  swaying;  forcing  back  his 
tears;  muttering  to  himself:  "How  good  they  have 
been — how  good,  how  good!  All  mine  once  more — 
wonderful — wonderful!"  With  a  resolute  bracing  of 
his  shoulders  and  a  brave  lift  of  his  chin,  he  began  a 
tour  of  the  room,  stopping  before  each  one  of  his  be 
loved  heirlooms  and  treasures — his  precious  gun  that 
Gadgem  had  given  up — (the  collector  coveted  it 
badly  as  a  souvenir,  and  got  it  the  next  day  from  St. 
George,  with  his  compliments) — the  famous  silver 
loving  cup  with  an  extra  polish  Kirk  had  given  it;  his 
punch  bowl — scarf  rings  and  knick-knacks  and  the 
furniture  and  hangings  of  various  kinds.  At  last  he 
reached  the  sideboard,  and  bending  over  reread  the 
several  cards  affixed  to  the  different  donations — Mrs. 
Cheston's,  Mrs.  Horn's,  Miss  Clendenning's,  and  the 
others.  His  eye  now  fell  on  the  lone  bottle — this  he 
had  not  heretofore  noticed — and  the  note  bearing  Mr. 
Kennedy's  signature.  "  I  send  you  back,  St.  George, 
that  last  bottle  of  old  Madeira,  the  Black  Warrior  of 
1810 — the  one  you  gave  me  and  which  we  were  to 
share  together.  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  drink  my  half 
without  you  and  so  here  is  the  whole  and  my  warmest 
congratulations  on  your  home-coming  and  long  life 
to  you!" 

Picking  up  the  quaint  bottle,  he  passed  his  hand 
tenderly  over  its  crusted  surface,  paused  for  an  in 
stant  to  examine  the  cork,  and  held  it  closer  to  the 
light  that  he  might  note  its  condition.  There  he 

503 


KENNEDY  SQUARE 

stood  musing,  his  mind  far  away,  his  fingers  caressing 
its  sides.  All  the  aroma  of  the  past;  all  the  splendor 
of  the  old  re*gime — all  its  good-fellowship,  hospitality, 
and  courtesy — that  which  his  soul  loved — lay  im 
prisoned  under  his  hand.  Suddenly  one  of  his  old- 
time  quizzical  smiles  irradiated  his  face:  "  By  Jove!— 
just  the  thing!"  he  cried  joyously,  "it  will  take  the 
place  of  the  one  Talbot  didn't  open!" 

With  a  mighty  jerk  of  the  bell  cord  he  awoke  the 
echoes  below  stairs. 

Todd  came  on  the  double  quick: 

"Todd." 

"  Yes,  Marse  George." 

"Todd,  here's  the  last  bottle  of  the  1810.  Lay  it 
flat  on  the  top  shelf  with  the  cork  next  the  wall.  We'll 
open  it  at  Mr.  Harry's  wedding." 


[THE  END] 


504 


Books  by  F.  HOPKINSON  SMITH 

PUBLISHED  BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

FORTY  MINUTES  LATE 

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PETER 

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THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  OLD- 
FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

Illustrated  in  Color.     12mo.     $1.50 

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THE  VEILED  LADY 

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Books  by  F.  HOPKINSON  SMITH 
THE  WOOD  FIRE  IN  No.  3 

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"There  are  rollicking  humor,  pathos,  romance, 
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AT  CLOSE  RANGE 

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CHRISTMAS 

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THE  UNDER  DOG 

Illustrated.     12mo.    $1.50 

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THE  FORTUNES  OF  OLIVER 
HORN 

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JUN    181934 

JUN    191934 

Hj<ut     6   1937 

LD  21-100m-7,'33 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


